KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR
by Silvertayl 57
Summary: Dean thought it sounded like a simple enough hunt. But when was anything simple when your surname was Winchester? A simple salt and burn near the small town of Gerty, Oklahoma turns to disaster for the Winchester Brothers.
1. Chapter 1

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

A Supernatural story by:

_Silvertayl_

**Disclaimer:**

All recognisable characters remain the property of their respective creators and owners.

**Beta:**

_msokiedokie_

**Story Notes:**

**Spoilers for season 5**

Set immediately after 5:6 I Believe the Children are our Future.

Not a death fiction story.

**Story Summary:**

Dean thought it sounded like a simple enough hunt. But when was anything simple when your surname was Winchester? A simple salt and burn near the small town of Gerty, Oklahoma turns to disaster for the Winchester Brothers.

_**Teaser**_

"What the hell happened to you boy and where the hell is your brother?" His voice to his own ears sounded laced with fear and dread.

At last Sam spoke; his voice so quiet and filled with emotion, Bobby had to lean forward to hear the halting words. "Dean… Bobby…he's… he's dead."

Bobby stared up at him. Sam's face crumpled and twisted with inner agony a moment before he folded up like a stack of cards in front of Bobby's wheelchair, his head coming to rest on his lap; hands clenched in Bobby's jeans, body pressed up against his useless legs.

Bobby laid one hand on Sam's dirty, messy hair and one on his trembling back as he sobbed out his misery.

His throat closed choking him with emotion, tears filled his eyes, spilling over and quickly becoming a flood raining down on the back of Sam's head.

**Chapter 1: A Simple Salt and Burn.**

_**Ada, Oklahoma**_

Dan Barker pulled the crumpled piece of note paper from his pocket looked down at the hastily scribbled name and phone number on the sheet from an office note pad. The woman had called him at the office this morning it wasn't until Dan had hung up that he realized she hadn't given him her name. He was running out of options; had run out of options.

Desperate people do desperate things and he was now desperate apart from burning the place down and claiming on the insurance what other choice did he have. Dan might be what some would call a shrewd and ruthless business man but he could never stoop to arson.

Dan poured himself his fourth Jim Beam of the evening drank it down in one swallow picked up the phone and rang Bobby Singer.

KITA

_**Alliance, Nebraska**_

It was silent in the car as they left Alliance both of them lost in their own thoughts about the kid, Jesse Turner.

Dean broke the silence. "Ya think Jesse's gonna be okay?"

"I hope so." Sam answered with a sigh.

"You know we destroyed that kid's life by telling him the truth."

Dean glanced out the window as black and white patrol car lights flashing sirens blaring screamed by; to be quickly swallowed up by the night.

"We didn't have a choice, Dean." Sam said as the siren faded away.

"Yeah… you know I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids… you want 'em to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing pop rocks with coke to protect 'em from the real evil... you want 'em goin to bed feelin safe if that means lying to 'em so be it… the more I think about it… the more I wish dad had lied to us."

"Yeah me too."

Silence returned to the dark interior of the Impala broken a minute later as Sam's phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket glancing at the caller ID before he connected.

"Hey Bobby."

"You boys still in Alliance?"

"Yeah we're just heading out."

"Jobs come up in Oklahoma, you boys up for it?"

Dean glanced at Sam for askance.

"Hold on Bobby," Sam turned to Dean moving the mouth piece away, "Bobby's got a job in Oklahoma, you wanna take it?"

"What kinda job?" Dean said without taking his eyes off the road.

"What is it Bobby?"

"A spirit, a simple salt and burn."

"Salt and burn." Sam repeated to Dean.

"Sounds easy yeah we'll take it, why not?"

Sam put the phone back up to his mouth. "Yeah Bobby, we'll take it, give me the details."

KITA

It was raining heavily as in the early hours of the morning they crossed the border into Oklahoma. The way too cheery DJ at 2 in the morning informed them this was the third day of rain, easing off tomorrow afternoon. True to the forecast the rain got heavier the further south they travelled; sheets of rain threw itself at the Impala's windshield.

Sam filled Dean in on the hunt reading by flash light from his hastily scribbled notes and the computer open balancing on his knees as they made their way south.

"Dan Barker the guy that contacted Bobby is a realtor in Ada. He brought the property outside of Gerty last year from a man in Des Moines. He inherited it after the death of his second cousin Albert Everly's wife Edith in 2001." Sam paused squinting at his own handwriting then switched to the computer. "The cousin Albert disappeared in 68 no one ever saw him again."

"Get to the spirit."

Sam went back to the notes. "Barker saw what he described as the decaying body of a man approximately mid to late fifties floating in the hallway of the house the same day the last tenants came into his office saying they were leaving claiming they had seen a ghost, wanted the rent they'd paid in advance back."

"So the spirit is Albert Everly, but I thought you said he disappeared in 68, how come no one's seen him until now?"

Sam looked over at Dean and shrugged then went back to the computer. "A local Oklahoma newspaper caught the story interviewed the last tenants and from their description of the ghost and some digging into the county records the paper came up with a theory that the ghost was that of former owner Albert Everly," Sam scrolled down the web page he was looking at, "I pulled up the article, Albert was rumored to be physically abusive to his wife Edith that had led to Edith admitted to the hospital on several occasions."

"So this guy Everly he was a wife beater?" Dean asked as the Impala shot southwards, eating up the miles the wipers keeping up a rhythmical beat as they cleared way one slash of rain after another.

"Sounds like a real charmer. Did no one try to stop him, to help her, Edith?"

"Dean this was the sixties, they lived outside a small town and people didn't like to get involved. It's different today everybody knows every bodies business and there's all kind of help available for battered wives."

"Thank God for that. "I would have killed him too if I was in her shoes."

"I hear ya. Anyway the paper came to the conclusion that Edith unable to take the abuse any longer killed Albert and disposed of his body somewhere on the property. She lived there alone until her death at 84 in 2001. Albert's second cousin being the closest living relative inherited the property, which he subsequently sold to Dan Barker in 08."

"I wonder why he's only haunting the place now, something the tenants did has woken his spirit and pissed him off, or maybe they disturbed his body."

"Guess we'll find out soon enough."

Dean thought it sounded like a simple enough hunt. But when was anything simple when your name ended in Winchester.

KITA

Dawn was about 2 hours away, when they hit Gerty.

Sam had suggested they find somewhere to bed down and take care of this tomorrow night… or tonight as it was now well after midnight.

Dean just wanted to get it done, and then they could find somewhere to crash out and sleep. "Man I feel like I could sleep for a week." He rolled his shoulder s his back still aching from where Jesse's demon possessed mother had thrown his into the wall.

Gerty Oklahoma population 405 one of those towns that if you blinked you missed it. The dozen or so streets were quiet and dark. As you would expect at 4.30 in the morning.

"So what am I looking for?" Dean asked.

"Road D1503 at the south east end of town. The house is about a mile and a half outta town the only house out there, cross over the creek and it's on the right the same creek runs behind the house."

Three minutes after leaving Gerty they crossed over the creek. About 600 meters further on sitting back off the road a copse of trees what looked in the dark to be some kind of oak looming, framing it from behind was the farmhouse.

Dean pulled the Impala off the road following the twin tire tracks in the dirt that the rain had turned to mud leading up to the warped waste high picket fence with enough missing palings to drive a small car through. A matching gate hung open listing to one side from one hinge.

Dean parked the Impala a few meters from the fence and peered at the house through the rain covered windshield. The place looked decrepit in the dark, _probably looks even worse in daylight. _He heard the creak of Sam's door as he opened it the bench seat move underneath him as Sam got out another creak and the thud of the closing door, the car rocked gently on its suspension.

"Why would anyone want to live here?" He said to no one in particular.

With a resigned sigh he alighted the car and joined Sam waiting at the trunk; the shoulders of Sam's jacket already damp and his hair flattening against his skull from the persistent heavy rain.

Dean opened the trunk gave a shiver as the cold damp penetrated his jacket, flipping up the hidden compartment.

While Dean loaded the two salt guns, packing his pockets with extra salt rounds and an EMF meter, Sam loaded a can of lighter fluid a salt canister and their newest acquisition, 2 fold up spades into a duffle bag, patted his pants pocket to make sure he had the Zippo before taking the proffered pump action sawn-off, extra salt rounds a second EMF and a flash light from Dean, pushing the spares and the meter into his jacket pocket he slung the duffle over his shoulder; Dean took out another flash light before slamming the trunk. Clicking it on and directing the beam onto the muddy path that led the way to the gate.

"I hope that body is inside and not buried on the grounds." Dean said to Sam not taking his eyes off the rain soaked ground in the circle of the flash light.

"Yeah, I don't feel like searching the grounds in the dark getting all wet an' dirty or more wet an' dirty." Sam answered.

Dean stopped so suddenly and turned back to face him Sam almost ran into him.

"What?" Sam asked not sure he wanted to know when he caught a glimpse of Dean's smirk in the glow from the flash light.

"Sorry princess if I had a cape I'd throw it over the puddles for you, to keep your satin slippers dry."

"Very funny, just keep walkin', jerk."

Dean gave a snicker and turned back to the path. With every step they took the mud dragged at their shoes seemingly reluctant to give them up and trying to pull them down into the quagmire, releasing them eventually with a sucking squelch as they made their way through the sagging gate and walked up the porch steps and up to the front door.

Dean turned the handle; the door wasn't locked. He pushed on the door it swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges; taking a step into the uninviting opening with Sam right on his heels, running a hand along the wall inside of the door he found a light switch and flicked it up. Weak light from a naked bulb in a wall sconce half way down the now visible hall in front of them lit the entrance way where they were standing and illuminated the drab hallway driving back the worst of the dark and shadows.

"At least the powers still on." Sam observed.

Immediately to the right of the door against the side wall a staircase ascended upwards the under part of the stairs forming the other side of the hallway closed in with dark wood paneling. On the left were 2 dark rectangles of open doorways, one close to them the other two thirds down the hall.

"I'll take the upstairs, you check around down here," Dean said in a quiet voice one foot already on the bottom step, he exchanged the flashlight for the EMF meter, salt gun in deceivingly casual grip, "yell if you find it."

"Okay be careful."

Pulling the second EMF from the duffle and turning it on Sam went into the first room on his left finding nothing except some ratty old furniture. The second room was empty; there was no activity from the EMF.

The second room yielded the same result, nothing.

At the very end of the hall end of the hall was another doorway Sam entered a dark room, finding a light switch on the wall inside he flicked it on, the naked bulb illuminated a kitchen, to his left was a stainless steel sink with an attached drainer, next to that an antique looking fridge. In front of him was a very seventies gaudy Formica topped table a couple of matching chairs with rusted steel legs. A curtain less darkened window behind it flanked on the right by a wooden bolted door. On his right the shorter side of the kitchen was an upright gas stove and oven and a work bench, filled in underneath by cupboards.

As Sam panned the silent EMF reader around the room above his head the ceiling creaked as Dean moved around from one room to another. Sam hoped Dean was having better luck upstairs.

Leaving the kitchen he stepped back in the hallway the toe of his shoe caught on the edge of a long threadbare hall runner, he tripped forward and sideways; his shoulder colliding with the paneling beneath the stairs to his left. He glared down at the offending rug before turning back to the paneling. The panel had given slightly under the weight of his shoulder. _My imagination or did that panel move_?

Sam propped the gun against the paneling beside him running his hand along the edge of the panel. This was not a panel it was a door cleverly disguised as one of the panels. Pointing the EMF at the panel one of the red lights lit up but it remained silent he stowed the EMF in his pocket and moved his fingers back up the sides feeling for some sort of handle or catch.

Half way up the right side there was a small hole where one of the many faux knots of wood dotting the paneling had been cut out or removed. Sam pushed his index finger into the hole the back of hole gave under slight pressure; there was an ensuing click as the catch released the panel sprung out at him. He pulled the panel all the way open and peered into the gloomy interior. A musty odor hit him damp, mold and mildew mixed with something else, something that he had smelled before but couldn't remember where or when.

"What is that smell?" Sam spoke to himself trying to jog his memory.

"Find something?" Dean's voice sounded close to his ear, startling him and causing him to jump up banging the back of his head on the top of the doorway.

"Jeez Dean don't do that." Sam said furiously to his grinning brother.

"Sorry princess upstairs was a bust no decaying corpses no EMF, zip, zero, zilch, nil, nada, nothing."

"Jerk."

Dean was still grinning when Sam pulled the EMF reader from his pocket, flicked on his flashlight, pointing both into the dark space.

"Didn't that real estate guy say he saw Everly in the hallway?" Dean asked as he poked his head forward inside the doorway.

"Yeah."

"Maybe the body's in here?"

The beam of the flash light showed the space ran the length and breadth of the stairs, the end where the door was almost tall enough to stand up in narrowing down to nothing where the underside of the stairs met the floorboards at the far end.

"There's no body in here, and no EMF," Sam observed, "Hang on what's this?"

"D'you find something?" Dean repeated his question from a minute ago.

In the floor about a couple of meters to the right was the outline of some sort of trap door a recessed hand hole at the end closest to him. Ducking his head and squatting a little Sam stepped fully into the space leaning forward he pulled the 3 by 3 foot trapdoor up and away from the floor, tipping it over onto the floorboards behind the hole. The smell Sam had noticed earlier much stronger now.

"What is that," Dean said peering over Sam's shoulder into the hole, "smells like a baker's yeast, umm, what I wouldn't give for some fresh baked bread still warm from the oven smothered in melting butter."

"Can we focus here?" Sam said as he shone the flash light and EMF reader down the hole; the light catching on the top rung of what looked like wooden steps descending into the darkness, the reader letting out a low squawk 3 of the bulbs lit up briefly before one of blinked out again.

"I'm focused, hungry but focused." Dean said defensively. As if to prove his point his stomach growled loudly.

"I think there's something down here, there's some steps I'm going down."

The sturdy wooden steps descended into the darkness from the far side of the hole. Sam crouched lower in the restricted head space, pocketing the EMF meter he tucked the flashlight under his chin balanced the sawn-off in one hand and planted his right foot down onto the top rung. As he descended the duffle lying across his back bumped on the outer edge of the opening.

Dean stepped into the space and as soon as Sam's shaggy head disappeared below the opening, Dean followed him down, making sure he had each foot in the middle of each rung. The beam of the flash light bouncing around him as Sam examined his new surroundings.

As Sam shone the light around it caught and winked on something on the floor. Two kerosene lamps sat up against the closest wall.

He heard the creak of the wood as Dean descended the steps, he lit one and was putting the Zippo to the wick of the second as Dean reached the bottom and turned towards the light from the lamps.

Dean planted his feet firmly on the dirt floor the space around him brightened; he turned towards the source of the light. Sam had found and lit 2 kerosene lamps.

The yeast smell was even stronger down here. Sam held out one of the lamps to him. As he took the lamp Dean suddenly remembered that smell from a hunt in Kentucky he was on with dad when Sam was away at Stanford.

"Moonshine." He said.

"What?" Sam asked as he lifted his lamp and looked around.

"That smell its mash, a mixture of corn meal, sugar and brewer's yeast used to make moonshine, the tenants have been busy."

"I knew I'd smelled it somewhere before."

"How come you know about mash?" Dean asked surprised.

"A college buddy at Stanford he lived off campus he brewed it."

"Huh. So college wasn't all boring?"

Sam ignored him pulled out the EMF moving away the lamp held high throwing back the darkness.

Dean followed his example holding the lamp high he glanced around the room.

The room was roughly the breadth of the house the length running back to the front, the space punctuated at intervals by sturdy looking support beams; the underside of the pine floorboards running nine feet above his head. The walls were shorn up with rough mismatched bricks of different sizes and colors, holding most of the earth behind it at bay, stopping it from tumbling into the room. Clods of hard packed earth protruded from holes where the bricks had crumbled or fallen away.

"It's a cellar of some sort," Dean observed as he stepped across the dirt floor, "maybe a wine cellar.

"Don't think it's been used as a wine cellar for a long while, looks like they've been using it to store the hooch." Sam said from the far side of the cellar.

Dean moved to where Sam was staring down at a 2 tier shelves neatly stacked with 5 liter glass jars filled with an off white cloudy liquid. To one side was a large 5 gallon bucket

Dean shone the lamp onto the bottles then into the bucket. Tan colored head of bubbles lapped at the rim. "And brew it .This is the mash they probably kept it down here while it's rising, trying to keep the smell contained, you said a creek runs behind here."

"Yeah, so?"

"The shine is 90% pure alcohol very potent and volatile it can explode during in the brewing process. The still is usually outside close to a cold water creek for safety and if you drink it straight off the still it can contain methanol you can go blind or die, so they cut it to half strength with fresh water to make drinkable."

"Dude, you know an awful lot about it."

"Learned all about it from an old dude on a hunt with dad while you were at wussy state."

"There's no way they would be drinking all this they must have going to sell it."

"The spirit must have really put a fire under them if they abandoned this."

Sam turned away from the stacked bottles moving to scan around the rest of the cellar; he was almost back and to one side of the stairs when the meter went off, squealing, and all the red lights on top lit up like a Christmas tree.

Dean came to stand beside him, looking down at the noisy, blinking meter.

"Yahtzee."

Sam shut it off put down the gun slid the duffle off his shoulder and pulled out the spades opening them up he handed one to Dean.

They had dug down about a foot when Sam asked. "Do you think the recent activity down here disturbed Everly's grave?"

"I'd say so. I think Everly had double standards, the man thought nothing of hitting his wife when he was alive but doesn't approve of moonshine being made on his property after he's dead."

The body was in a fairly shallow grave, no more than 3 feet down. It was probably the best Edith could do at the time. The remainders of clothing clung to the bones, wisps of light brown hair clung to the skull, the eye sockets empty and the teeth pulled into a perpetual grin.

"Hello Mr. Everly." Dean said as he cleared away more dirt.

The sudden coolness in the room alerted them to the spirits presence. It penetrated their clothes, their breath misting out before them.

Dean dropped his spade, scooped up his salt gun; from out the corner of his eye he saw Sam do the same. Still kneeling he twisted on the balls of his feet to face the other side of the room.

The spirit was standing in the center of the cellar. The figure looked solid, corporeal. Giving it away as a spirit was the frequent flickering in and out of the figure, and the decaying parchment like skin deeply lined and wrinkled where it wasn't stretched thin over the protruding cheek bones didn't belong to anything living. What remained of his clothing was the same as on the body's remains they had partially uncovered, tattered and torn, the shirt that had at some stage been white or close to it and the dull brown suit revealing more decaying flesh through the many renders.

"Sam, keep digging." Dean said his eyes and his concentration on Everly. He heard the sound of the spade digging into the dirt start up again behind him as Sam did as he had asked and resumed digging.

Dean cocked the rifle pointing it at the spirit. It made no move to come closer, its seemingly sightless milky eyes stared hard at him.

"Get out." It said, just like the creepy ass ghost voice in The Amityville Horror.

"Sure thing pal as soon as we torch your ugly ass wife beating body."

Without warning Dean felt himself lifted off the ground his body twisting as he flew through the air passing straight through the spirit the dirt floor sped by his eyes for a brief moment before his body crashed horizontally against the shelves and bottles of moonshine, the crack of breaking wood and breaking glass reverberated around him as he slid down the wall; shelving and bottles broken and intact tumbling down on him and around him. Cool wetness soaked his hair and clothes.

Dazed but not really hurt he heard Sam cry out. "Dean."

He opened eyes he didn't remember closing. Everly's spirit was standing over him now a look of pure hatred twisting his already gruesome continence. Over Everly's shoulder he saw Sam take a step towards him.

Dean stopped him in his tracks with a growled. "I'm alright keep digging."

"Get out of my house."

Dean lifted the salt gun that he somehow still had in his grasp and fired a round into it. It dispersed a shower of salt crystals falling to ground where it had stood.

Sam abandoned the spade and started scooping with his hands, trying to uncover enough of the body to ensure all the remains burnt to ashes, sparing a quick look over at his brother when the report of the gun filled the room.

Dean was extricating himself from the wreckage of the glass bottles and shelves. He groaned as he found his feet staggering a few paces towards him.

Everly appeared again flickering into life his back to him but up close and personal with Dean. Dean gave a startled. "Ummf," running into Everly's ghostly but solid figure, stumbling back a step, the gun flying out of Dean's hand almost simultaneously as he was again flung backwards the sound of more breaking glass accompanied his landing once again into the wreckage of the shelves of moonshine. This time he lay still, eyes closed.

Sam snatched up his salt gun stood and fired in the one motion at Everly's back, again the spirit dispersed.

Sam quickly covered the now wet, muddy earth to Dean's side; Dean was stirring his arms and legs shifting against the moonshine sodden ground, frown lines creasing his forehead, his eyes opened blinking rapidly.

"Hey Dean, you alright." Sam asked as he laid one hand on his brothers soaked shirt front the other on his shoulder.

"I'm okay, son of a bitch that dead man's strong." Dean said looking around the room.

Sam gave a half laugh fisting his hand in Dean's shirt he helped him to his feet. "Dude you smell like a brewery."

Dean sniffed at the sleeve of his jacket and started back from the potent smell.

"Let's finish this bastard and get outta' here," Dean said as he bent over retrieving his salt gun from the wet floor, his eyes followed the path of liquid, "umm Sam, I think we got a problem." He added.

Sam looked at his brother Dean's eyes were on the ground. "What, problem? What is it?"

"The moonshine." Dean indicated the ground with the salt gun.

Sam followed Dean's gaze. The ground around their feet was now a muddy reeking puddle of moonshine rivulets snaked across the ground in all directions some of them disappearing into the half dug grave.

Sam looked from the muddy alcohol rivers back to Dean, unsure of what Dean meant. "What about it?"

"We can't burn a body down here; the whole place will go up and us with it."

"You're right, so what are we gonna do?"

Dean pawed at his wet shirt eyes darting around the room. "I'll keep Everly busy down here you take the body outside and burn it."

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"Okay." Sam padded across to the grave, Dean had his back. Most of the body was uncovered but in pieces, the earth still clinging to it and around it was damp, he couldn't lift it out and drag it up the ladder. He remembered the duffle a few feet away he dragged it towards him held it open as best as he could and started stuffing the bones into the bag non to gently. The bones clanging against the can of lighter fluid still in the bottom of the bag.

Behind him he heard Dean yell. "Sam stay down." He pulled his head down a moment before the report of the gun sounded close by.

Before the echo of the shot had died away he began to again stuff bones in the bag again the familiar sounds of Dean ejecting the spent shells and reloading assuring Sam without looking that Dean had sent the spirit packing yet again and was unharmed.

The skull was the last to go in Sam rose to his feet grabbing the shot gun and slinging the now heavy duffle over his shoulder in the same motion.

"Okay I got it." He reached stairs in a few long paces and put one foot on the bottom riser his free hand on one higher up at chest level, trying to balance the weight of heavy bone-filled bag while holding the shot gun and somehow keeping his footing and climbing the stairs at the same time.

Reaching the top he looked back down at his brother. He was standing in the center of the cellar his back to Sam feet braced apart shot gun at the ready, panning it around the room ready for Everly to appear again.

Some sense must have told Dean that Sam had hesitated he growled out. "Go Sam I'll be right behind you."

Sam turned away and clearing the last of the steps he scrambled from the hole then tumbled into the hallway. Quickly regaining his feet he headed for the front door which was thankfully still open. As he cleared the door it slammed behind him; he felt the breeze created by the impact of the door slamming into the frame.

Sam tripped on the bottom porch step the weight of the bag sending him sprawling into the rain soaked mud, precious seconds wasted. Feet slipping in the mud Sam regained his balance and ran away from the house. Once he thought he was far enough away he upended the duffle the bones lighter fluid and salt canister fell in a heap into the mud. He dragged the salt and lighter fluid clear of the bones.

A moment later an ominous rumbling sounded from deep in the house. Momentarily distracted from the job at hand Sam glanced up at the dark foreboding facade expecting to see… _what? A billboard with what was going on inside plastered across it. _He couldn't be sure but he thought the house shivered for a moment.

He sprinkled the salt and lighter fluid over the pile of bones. He pulled the Zippo from his pocket flicked it, nothing, flicked it again, still nothing, a third, fourth and fifth time; on the sixth try it caught a small flame sprung from the plastic lighter, more time wasted. Shielding the flame from the rain he put the flame to the pile; a burst of flame flared where it landed then snaked across the bones devouring the lighter fluid. The heat from the fire warmed his face.

Again he looked back to the house, this time he expected to see the front door thrown open and Dean to hurtling out into the almost imperceptibly lighting night.

Dean stood ready for Everly his back to Sam and the steps his feet sinking into the muddy puddles of moonshine.

"Okay I got it." He heard Sam say and then the creaking of the stairs as Sam climbed to the hallway above.

Dean sensed a sudden hesitation in Sam and knew his brother had stopped at the top the ladder. "Go Sam I'll be right behind you." He said with a growl.

He stepped back until the bottom step pressed against his ankles. He heard Sam's feet pounding along the hallway above, giving the cellar a final once over he turned and began to climb, expecting an icy cold hand to wrap around his ankle.

Dean scrambled out from under the stairs into the hallway; gaining his feet he took a step towards the front door.

Without warning the ceiling above his head cracked and crashed down, he took a step backwards away from putting up his arm to shield his face, felt sharp bits of debris penetrating the fabric of his shirt and jacket piercing and cutting his skin on his forearm.

When the noise fell away he pulled his arm away from his face the hallway was blocked. Dean said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "Son of a bitch. You want me to leave, or you want me to stay, which is it fugly."

Dean took another step back as more of the ceiling caved in. He was now standing in the entrance of the kitchen he turned looking for another way out. Behind him was a wooden door bolted shut. He sidestepped the Formica topped table in the middle of the room and was within an arms length of the door when the ceiling above collapsed, plaster, and wood, dirt all kinds of debris raining down on his back and legs, forcing him to the floor. There was a metallic thud a snap followed immediately by a loud hissing.

He lifted his head turning in direction of the hissing, and then the smell hit him, _gas._

One of the wooden beams that had crashed down from the floor above had fallen behind severing the gas line. Dean couldn't see the danger emerging from behind the stove but he could hear and smell it.

Above him the light bulb was hanging down from between what remained of the ceiling and the floor above by the thick insulated electrical wiring, swinging wildly back and forth flickering on and off sending fractured light around the room like a disco ball from the 70's.

Knowing all the escaping gas needed was a spark Dean had to hurry. If the bulb burst he had no hope of escaping the ensuing explosion. Dean began to hurriedly disentangle himself from the rubble across his back and lower body, as he pushed aside a large piece of 2by4 a nail sticking out at an odd angle tor at the skin along his inner arm, snagging his skull bracelet pulling the stretchy cord from his wrist, it fell unnoticed into the pile of rubble around him.

Finally pulling himself free of the wreckage he scrambled to his feet, when for the third time he was flung backward his left shoulder taking the brunt of the collision with the door, the door that was his only escape, sliding ungraciously down to the rubble strewn floor.

Choking and gasping on air now filled with the toxic smell of gas he saw through hazy eyes Everly before him, flickering in and out. His own shallow painful breaths puffing out into the now cold gas filled room and he realized with horror he had no salt gun, lost somewhere under the pile of rubble from above half filling the room. Not that he could use it the spark would set off the gas. _What the hell Sam, hurry it up will ya'?_

Four things seemed to happen almost simultaneously, in slow motion like the effects they were so fond of using in the movies. With a growl of hatred Everly's icy cold hand wrapped around Dean's throat, the light bulb still swinging wildly at the end of its cord shattered, sparking and fizzling, Everly burst into flame and dissipated into nothing, Dean felt Everly's cold grip turn to a moment of burning heat at his throat as he was surrounded by a bright, blinding, deafening all encompassing ball of white burning light.

One moment he was standing looking at the house and the next he was lifted off his feet and flung backwards by a wall of heat and light. The next thing he knew he was lying in amongst the broken palings of the picket fence; rain, his face being peppered with stinging, sharp objects mingled with the rain; his ears ringing and yet at the same time filled with a strange kind of hissing deafness.

Opening his eyes to the weak, pale watered down light of dawn; he rapidly blinked away grit that stung and burned like acid before lifting up onto his elbows eyes drawn to the house, popping, crackling and groaning noises and flames leaping skyward emanated from what he realized was the remains of the house.

Still shocked by blast he clambered to his feet bringing shaking fingers to the side of his jaw; his fingers traced along a gash in the flesh. There was something buried in the skin there his fingers came away wet not from the ever present rain but with blood, mixed with dirt plaster and dry wall that seemed to coat him from head to foot.

He began to walk then run towards the house; _Dean was in there. _Heavy feet slipping in the mud, he leaped over the smoldering ashes of Everly's remains, vaulting over various pieces of debris scattered in his path.

"Dean, DEAN!!? Sam yelled as he began to around circle the huge pile towards the back of where the house had stood.

The early morning light showed more debris here than at the front. It was strewn across the puddles of rain and yellowed patchy grass spreading into the copse of Oak trees concealing the creek. He could make out what he recognized as the back door lying at the base of a nearby tree, but no sign of his brother. Which meant Dean was probably trapped under there.

With an anguished cry. "Oh my God… DEAN!!" He fell to his knees at the edge of the pile he began pulling and digging at it frantically with his bare hands.

KITA

_**30 hours later; near Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

Bobby cursed for the umpteenth time today as for the umpteenth time today he had rammed the wheelchair into either a door jamb, a piece of furniture or one of the copious piles of books he still had scattered around.

The boys had been gradually clearing out the downstairs of Bobby's collection of books, stacking them into boxes and piling the boxes up against the library/study wall trying to make it easier for Bobby to get around. Between them they had hauled Bobby's bed down the stairs, clearing a space in the lounge room centrally positioned between the downstairs bathroom, kitchen and the library/study.

Although he never admitted it to them he was grateful they were trying to make things easier for him. They spent much of their down time here which wasn't much at the best of times and now with the apocalypse in full swing was now even less Bobby loved these boys like they were his own and he loved having them around.

As he navigated his way from the library into the kitchen there was a knock on the door, he turned the chair in that direction and wheeled it up to the door. He pulled it open to find Sam standing in the doorway, his face in shadow.

"Sam. I'm gonna have to get you boys some keys cut," he leaned forward trying to see around Sam looking for his brother, "where's Dean?"

Sam said nothing; Bobby back peddled into the house so he didn't have to strain his neck to look up at the freakishly tall young man. As Sam stepped inside the light from behind Bobby lit his face; he saw Sam clearly for the first time since opening the door.

The boy looked whacked; his clothes were dirty torn and disheveled his sneakers encrusted with dried mud; hands and fingers were scraped and bloody; hair in a wild tangle looking like he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards; eyes circled with fatigue, sadness and misery, small cuts covered his face and neck 2 larger cuts one on his neck and one on his jaw had left trails of dried blood. The cut on his jaw was open and raw.

"What the hell happened to you boy and where the hell is your brother?" His voice to his own ears sounded laced with fear and dread.

At last Sam spoke; his voice so quiet and filled with emotion, Bobby had to lean forward to hear the halting words. "Dean… Bobby he's… he's dead."

Bobby stared up at him. Sam's face crumpled and twisted with inner agony a moment before he folded up like a stack of cards in front of Bobby's wheelchair, his head coming to rest on his lap bloody hands clenched in Bobby's jeans, body pressed up against his useless legs.

Bobby laid one hand on Sam's dirty, messy hair and one on his trembling back as he sobbed out his misery.

He felt emotion rise in him unable to hold back, tears filled his eyes, spilling over and quickly becoming a flood raining down on the back of Sam's head.

_**To be continued…**_

A first chapter cliffhanger, so sorry. Please review and let me know your thoughts. Oh by the way did I say this is not a death fiction story.

Apologies for this being longer in coming than I predicted but personal matters and illness have slowed the writing process considerably. Chapter 2 is written it just needs a little tweaking and chapter 3 is underway.

_Silvertayl_


	2. Chapter 2

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

Thanks to all those who reviewed and have added Knight In Tarnished Armor to their favorites and story alerts.

I'm backing up a little to see what happened to Dean and Sam tells Bobby how he came to conclusion Dean is dead. (He's not of course)

**Chapter 2: **"Sam, tell me what happened."

_**22 hours earlier; near Gerty, Oklahoma**_

He thought he could hear someone calling his name. _Sounds like… Sammy!_ Fat wet drops hit his face, the moisture a soothing relief to his burning skin; that and the voice that was now away fading served to bring him back from the edge of darkness that was holding him in its grip; strange because the last thing he could remember was a bright, blinding, ball of white burning light as the spark from the shattered light bulb ignited the gas and the house exploded.

With difficulty he opened his eyes blinking as the wet drops hit the delicate membrane covering his eye balls. His vision was swimming and moving everything was fuzzy with an occasional flash of strobing brightness that made him want to close his eyes again; his vision cleared for a moment long enough for him to see that the wet drops were dripping from the rain sodden leaves some turning to fall colors hanging from the branches just above him. Then his vision shifted again and the leaves morphed and swirled into a mass of green and yellow, punctuated by another flash of light his eyes closing on the brain stabbing light._ How long have I been lying here?_ _And I can_ _no longer hear Sam_. _Damn it I have to_ _find Sam._

His brain felt full of mush, his thoughts disjointed and jumbled, fighting for space in his brain with a million bells ringing through his head and ears; the rest of his body a mass of aches and pain, the left side of his body and face felt hot and was stinging and burning. And there was something sharp poking him in the small of his back.

Without opening his eyes and summoning energy from the depths of somewhere he rolled over there was a loud crack and he was falling cool air rushing past his face, then with an, "umph" and a silent curse he landed on his front dazed and winded; awakening more pain, eyes now screwed tight against this new added agony. _Crap did I just fall out of a tree? _The right side of his face and body pressed into a soggy, slimy carpet of musty smelling dead and dying leaves his breathing was rapid and labored; throat burning with every inhale and exhale his heartbeat pounding against the inside of his skull and pulsing behind his eyes.

He rested like that until his breathing had evened out for what he thought was maybe a minute but could have been an hour; eyes closed the rain caressing his burning body. He thought maybe he had passed out for a minute or two, his head felt like it was going to shatter with his next heartbeat. Using his arms he pushed back and up onto his knees, then body trembling with pain and exhaustion he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling as dizziness struck him his eyesight still blurred, wavering and strobing alarmingly he couldn't make out anything clearly his stomach lurched; nausea now threatening to send him back to his knees. He groaned swallowing against the acid like sickness rising into his throat.

He looked around trying to take in his swirling blurring surroundings.

Everything seemed darker as if dusk was closing in or maybe it was just him was he was going to pass out again. Unable to see much other than shifting stomach churning shadows. He gathered his waning strength that hadn't been much to start with and took a wobbly step forward, the pain in his head intensifying as his foot sank up to his ankle in the muddy leaves. He staggered another step and another; tall muffin topped blurry shapes that could have been trees looming up all around him. He steered his way through them using the trunks of the ones close enough as resting places for his trembling pain racked body for a brief few moments. He sent out a silent prayer that there were no pot holes hidden from him under the leaves; a broken ankle to add to his already numerous hurts the last thing he needed. Like a blind man he waved his arms out in front of him sweeping back and forth cutting the wet air, blinking and opening his eyes wide to try and clear his vision. _My head is going to explode; I need to rest, maybe that would help,_ _can't, have to keep going have to find what...? Who…? Sam, of course Sam. But I can't even see where I'm going? Maybe Sam was caught in the blast and he's lying somewhere close by?_

He stumbled to a stop, leaning heavily on the trunk of the nearest tree. "Sammy." He shouted but it came out as a hoarse, faint strangled whisper.

No reply, nothing, so he tried again. "Sammy." Louder this time, but still a poor relation of his usual bellow.

Pushing away from the support of the tree he started walking again, if you could call staggering stumbling steps walking. He knew he was weaving like a drunk after an all night bender; not at all sure he was heading in the right direction, to find Sam. _I'm probably going round in a circle._ He threw in a second prayer alongside the first; _please let me be going in the right direction, the direction where Sam is._

As he took another tentative step forward his foot slipped on the slimy muddy leaves and his trembling legs gave out; he went down on his hands and knees in the mud.

"Come on Dean get up, gotta find Sammy." His own mumbled words not very encouraging.

He crawled to the nearest, tall blurry shape, reaching out he grasped hold of the trunk, bark pushed into his the sturdy trunk as leverage he heaved himself back to his feet.

Starting forward again, he realized the ground was sloping down a little and he thought he heard something besides the ringing in his ears. The sound of water running bombarded his eardrums, lifting his hands he rubbed at his ears trying to ease the constant cacophony of noise that was growing ever louder.

On the next cautious step forward his foot encountered nothing, he felt like he was suspended for a moment and he was falling, again, cool air rushing past him. Bracing himself as best as he could for another impact with the solid but mushy ground. The impact never came; instead he hit something cold and wet; _this is different at least it's soft; _it swallowed him up closing around him with icy fingers the impact and the sudden cold robbing him of the little breath he had. His thoughts and Sam's voice vying for space in his head with the mush and the bells and the rushing water, "_the same creek runs behind the house."_

The creek that was swollen with rain water and rushing fast. _Damn it I picked the wrong way. _

The icy cold water seemed to be dragging him down after a moment he hit the bottom a sharp pain pierced his skull sending him into oblivion.

----------KITA----------

Bobby was still trying to grasp what Sam had told him, surely it couldn't be true, _Dean dead? After all that boy had been through a trip to hell and back literally, this is how it ends, a salt and burn a hunt I sent him on._

It was awhile later after he had regained some semblance of control and his eyes had dried when Sam's sobs had eased Bobby patted the boy's broad shoulder saying softly. "Come on kid, into the kitchen."

Sam had lifted his head and pulled himself to his feet, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his muddy dirty jacket; Bobby turned the chair and wheeled into the kitchen, Sam following obediently, like a ginormous greyhound. "Sit." Bobby indicated the nearest chair, Sam shrugged out of his jacket and sank down onto it; his elbows thumped down on the table and he buried his head in his hands.

Bobby took the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, washed and dried his hands and went back to Sam.

Pulling Sam's hands away from his face he examined and probed the cut along his jaw. "Looks like you've got something in there." He pulled a pair of needle-nosed tweezers from the kit inserted the tweezers into the widest part of the cut and extracted a 4cm long sliver of blood-coated glass. Sam never made a sound as he again probed the wound with the tweezers to make sure there was no more glass hidden in the flesh. Sam's hazel tear –filled eyes gazing vacantly over Bobby's left shoulder. After he was satisfied there was no more glass in the wound he poured some antiseptic on a cotton pad and dabbed it on the wound, remarking as he did. "Doesn't need stitching, might leave a scar to show the ladies." Bobby's attempts to lighten the atmosphere failing miserably. He said no more as he applied antibiotic cream and covering it with gauze taping it in place with medical tape. Sam never uttered a word or a sound, remaining silent through the process.

Bobby cleaned and dabbed antiseptic on the rest of the cuts. Sam's hands were bad; a real mess and proved to be a much more time consuming task to clean up. Bobby had to extract a dozen or more splinters from his palms and fingers and he was missing three fingernails, apart from the splinters Sam's hands were covered in so many cuts and scrapes Bobby ended up soaking them in a solution of luke warm water and antiseptic for a few minutes before patting them dry, applying a layer of antibiotic cream and then wrapping them in gauze securing the ends with more tape. And still Sam remained silent not a hiss or a flinch and Bobby knew the antiseptic had to sting like a mother.

After he'd taken care of Sam's physical hurts he had to try to work on the mental ones, besides he needed and wanted desperately to know the details of what had happened in Oklahoma.

Sam never even noticed when Bobby left the room coming back a minute later a near full bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses balanced on his lap. Putting the glasses on the table Bobby unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured two shots. Placing the bottle beside the brimming glasses he pushed a glass across the table to Sam. Sam blinked and looked down at the glass sitting between his bandaged hands; he frowned at his hands and the glass then lifted his eyes to Bobby's face as if seeing him for the first time since they'd entered the kitchen. He looked back down at the glass of amber liquid before picking up the glass tipping back his head downing the contents in one swallow, thudding the empty glass back down on the table, before he closed his eyes rubbing the bandaged fingertips of his right hand across his forehead.

Bobby downed the other glass; it burned a path of warmth down into his stomach. He put the empty glass back on the table and refilled both glasses.

"Sam, tell me what happened."

Sam lifted his head and focused on Bobby. "We got to Gerty around 5 and found Everly's body buried in the cellar, the last tenants had been brewing moonshine there were lots of bottles of it down there guess they were gonna sell it or something. We were half way through digging when Everly showed up. Dean told me to keep digging while he distracted him. Everly threw Dean into the bottles a couple of times most the bottles broke; his clothes were soaked in the stuff. Dean said that we couldn't salt and burn down there because the moonshine is 90% proof very unstable and could go up."

Bobby nodded. "Sounds about right."

Sam continued. "He told me to take the bones outside and burn em' while he kept Everly busy… so I did, Bobby he said he'd be right behind me. All these noises came from inside like the house was falling in on itself, I think Everly was really pissed I knew I had to hurry, but it was pouring rain and I had trouble getting the lighter to strike. I finally got it lit and the next thing there was some kind of explosion I was thrown backwards by it and then I was on the ground. I knew almost straight away what had happened. The house was gone, just a pile of rubble, debris was everywhere."

Sam stopped speaking, drawing in a shaky breath, he downed another shot. Bobby re-filled the glass, waiting, as the silence stretched out the tension became unbearable so Bobby nudged Sam to continue. "Sam, what did you do then?"

Sam was carried back on a wave of memories.

"_Dean, DEAN!!? Sam yelled as he began to circle around the huge pile towards the back of where the house had stood; side-stepping crackling spot fires of burning debris. _

_The early morning light showed more debris here than at the front; as if it had blown out this way. It was strewn across the puddles of rain and yellowed patchy grass spreading into the copse of oak trees concealing the creek. He could make out what he recognized as the back door lying at the base of a nearby tree, there were more spot fires here and adjacent to the pile of debris a flame shot from a twisted gas pipe. This was no doubt the cause of the explosion. _If Dean was caught in the explosion he was probably trapped under there.

_Sam cried out in anguish. "Oh my God… DEAN I'M COMING!" He sprinted to the pile leaping over a spot fire in his path then fell to his knees and began pulling and digging at it frantically with his bare hands._

_The more he dug the more impossible it seemed that Dean was under here and then he saw it Dean's sawed-off the barrel jutting skywards from the pile a few feet away. He scrambled over the pile reaching for the barrel with trembling hands pulling it free; there was something wrapped around the trigger, he was about to pull it off and throw it aside when he realized what it was Dean's skull bracelet, it was coated in dirt and what could have been blood. Untangling it from around the trigger his own blood coated fingers adding another coat of fresh blood to the bracelet he examined it before he pushed it deep into his jeans pocket before going back pulling debris away from the pile with renewed hope that Dean was trapped under here close by. _

_When it became obvious his brother wasn't here he gave a growl of frustration turning away from the house, throwing the piece of drywall still in his hand away, eyes scanning the wreckage scattered about, before he tipped his head to the sky and bellowed at the top of his lungs."DEAN."_

"I searched for hours Bobby front and back; the surrounding area I thought maybe he had been blown clear I went right into the trees a long way past the last piece of wreckage I called out until I was hoarse. Besides his salt gun this was all I found, Dean's gone." He pushed his bandaged fingers into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet, putting it down on the table in between them.

Bobby picked up the bracelet examining it closely running his fingers over the small skulls, some of which were misshapen from the blast. He rubbed at the dried rusty marks coating them. "Is this blood?"

"Yeah I found it in the rubble near the gun," Sam paused looking hard at Bobby, "So he was there when it exploded. Do you think by some miracle he could have survived Bobby? Maybe I didn't look hard enough?"

Bobby sighed. "I'm sure you looked as hard as you could. It's possible he survived but… unfortunately I have to say unlikely."

"I've gotta go back Bobby, I've gotta know for sure." Sam pushed the chair back and stood, he swayed alarmingly, causing Bobby to reach out and grasp his elbow, steadying him.

"Not in this state you're not."

"I have to go, he's my brother."

"No you don't, in case it slipped your mind you too were caught in that explosion; you can barely stand you're beat to hell boy, you need to rest and heal."

"But what if he's lying out there injured… dying? Damn it I should have looked harder, I shouldn't have given up so soon. Dean wouldn't have if it was me."

Bobby shook Sam's arm. "Listen to me boy. If Dean is alive you can't do him any good if you fall flat on your face." Bobby looked at Sam's pale, tired face. "When was the last time you ate or slept for that matter?"

Sam answered with a slight shrug of his shoulder and. "It doesn't matter."

"That long huh. I thought as much. Now you listen to me, this is how it's gonna go. I'm gonna get you somein' to eat, then you're gonna lie down and rest get some sleep, if I have to tie you to the bed, now sit down before you fall down, cuz I ain't in no state to pick you up off the floor."

The surge of adrenaline that had gotten him up out of the chair had left as quickly as it had arrived leaving him weak and shaky. He sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.

----------KITA----------

Bobby had tried to get Sam to go upstairs into the bedroom he and Dean always shared, but had to settle for the sofa Sam picked up the now half empty whiskey bottle from the table before he dragged himself into the lounge room. He slumped down onto the worn fabric leaning his head back the bottle held loosely in his hand.

Bobby pulled the curtains, shutting out the onset of evening; leaving Sam with the bottle of whiskey. He wheeled away turning to observe the kid unnoticed from the doorway for a moment. Without opening his eyes Sam lifted his head brought the bottle to his lips taking a hefty swallow before dropping his head back.

Pulling the doors closed on Sam he wheeled to the desk and made a phone call the result of which could effectively break both his and Sam's already fractured hearts. He hung up the phone a few minutes later going back in to check on the kid.

He was asleep. Although it couldn't be called restful by any stretch of the imagination. He'd slid sideways on the sofa head resting on the arm freakishly long legs still resting on the floor. A muscle in his jaw twitched at intervals, his eyes under red swollen lids moved rapidly, shadowed by semi-circles of bruised looking skin. Tracks of dried tears, dissected cheeks as white as the bandage along his jaw; arm hanging over the edge of the sofa, long bandaged fingers brushing the rug next to the empty bottle of whiskey. Bobby resisted the temptation to wake him; to fold him into his arms and offer Sam and himself some kind of comfort, so instead he retrieved an old plaid rug from the hall cupboard and covered the kid as best as he could flicked off the light and left the room.

_**To be continued…**_

Oh dear Dean is in a world of trouble. The things I put the gorgeous man through. I can't help it it's a sickness.

Who did Bobby call? All will be revealed in coming chapters.

I hope you are enjoying it so far. This is just the beginning folks this story has a long, long way to go, so buckle up and brace yourselves.

Thanks for reading please review and let me know your thoughts.

I hope everyone had a happy and safe Easter.

_Silvertayl_


	3. Chapter 3

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

Thanks to the loyal few who reviewed the last chapter. Many of the new readers have put KITA on story alert but are not reviewing. It only takes a few moments to drop me few words and it makes the many hours of slaving over a hot keyboard that it takes to put together each chapter worth the hard work. You can be assured I always answer all reviews.

Here's chapter 3. We will find out who Bobby called. How will Sam cope with bad news? Oh and of course we will learn what is happening to Dean.

**Chapter 3: Amelia**

67 year old Miss Amelia Hart loved the early morning, especially after rain. Everything washed clean, quiet and peaceful; sunlight slanting through the trees glistened off the dew and rain drops still clinging to the turning leaves. To the south the retreating rain clouds sat on the horizon.

As she cantered through the trees leading to the creek she could feel the power as Blossom's muscles rippled underneath her thighs; the cool morning breeze caressing her face.

Pearl bounded along in front barking at every movement imagined or real.

The trees thinned out near the creek with just few dotted along the edge of the creek; she and Blossom cleared the thickest of the trees in time to see the milky white colored Irish Wolf Hound reach the creek; she did a hard right and followed along the water's edge, large paws splashing in the water sending up little spurts of water.

When Amelia reached the creek she pulled the bay mare up and dismounted, looping the reigns loosely across her neck. Blossom walked forward front feet in the water lowered her head and began to drink.

Amelia sat leaning back against the skeleton of a fallen dead tree pushed a few stray strands of silver hair away from her face gazing out across the creek to the rocky outcrop on the other side. The creek was calmer now the level had dropped since yesterday morning.

To her right Pearl began to bark furiously. Amelia looked in her direction she was a hundred feet down the creek bouncing from side to side in front of something she had discovered at the edge of the creek. "Pearl leave whatever it is you're tormenting alone." Amelia called out.

Pearl stopped barking; turned and ran back to her. To Amelia's surprise, Pearl took a mouthful of Amelia's shirt sleeve in her mouth and pulled backwards, whining in the back of her throat. "Hey cut that out," Amelia said with a laugh as she pried Pearl's jaws from her shirt sleeve, "what's gotten into you today?"

Pearl took two lolloping steps away then turned back and began barking again.

"Okay I got the message you want me to come see, don't you?" with a sigh Amelia pushed to her feet using the log for leverage, "it had better not be another dead squirrel."

Pearl dashed away stopping every few strides to glance over her muscular shoulder to make sure Amelia was following.

As Amelia got close enough she could see what looked like a pile of rags snagged on a low hanging branch dangling in the water at the edge of the creek. Pearl was now sitting on all fours sniffing at the rags.

Amelia fell to her knees at the edge of the creek; it was not a pile of rags it was the body of a man, clad in ripped jeans a denim jacket and a pair of brown boots, his head was resting where the shallow water met the stones at the edge of the creek. Amelia looked at him sadly; his short brown hair waved to and fro with the lapping movement of the creek.

Besides her Pearl whined nudging her gently with her big head. "I think he's dead Pearl." Pearl whined again as if in agreement.

Amelia took a moment to study the lax features. He was young possibly thirty; strong jaw covered in stubble, full lips, his long dark eyelashes resting atop high cheekbones a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks stood out in sharp relief against the paleness of his skin. The man's face and neck were covered in small cuts and scrapes. A deep wide, ragged gash ran along the right side of his forehead just below his hairline the left side looked raw, burned and blistered. The left sleeve of his jacket was also burned and singed and there was a tear along the inside of the forearm of the right sleeve, revealing a ragged tear in the skin below. She reached out her hand and with only a moment's hesitation laid her palm against the young man's pale cheek. His skin was so cold Amelia pulled her hand quickly away. After a moment she pressed her fingertips against the exposed pulse point at his throat above the collar of the black t-shirt and open charcoal colored shirt he was wearing underneath the jacket.

At first she felt nothing but cold from his skin penetrating her own, and then came a slight flutter of movement against the cool fingertips and then another. _He's alive._ "Pearl he's alive; we have to get him out of the water."

As if she knew what she had to do Pearl took a mouthful of the man's denim jacket in her teeth and began to pull backwards digging her back paws into the pebbles lining the creek; Amelia joined her taking hold of his collar and his sleeve.

All that clean living and the good country air had made Amelia strong for her age, and she was lucky enough to have good health which was good because the creek gave him up reluctantly, his wet clothes and dead weight making it more difficult to retrieve his frozen body from the clutches of the cold water. A minute later they had pulled his booted feet clear of the creek, the heels of his boots leaving twin grooves in the pebbles.

Amelia was breathing hard from the exertion, kneeling at the head of the young man, sucking in huge breaths. "I'm too old for this girl."

Pearl sat at the motionless man's side; she looked at Amelia and whined as if agreeing with her then she leaned down and nudged his arm with her big muzzle.

As Amelia recovered her breath she mulled over what to do next. _I could ride back to the house and call for help? No Ada is too far away it would take too long for someone to get here he'll die waiting. Think Amelia think… _There was plenty of stuff around here to make a travois, but that also would take too an idea began to formulate in her head. Amelia looked to the mare now grazing at the short tufts of grass growing close the trees. She gave a long whistle. Blossom's head came up in her direction at the familiar sound.

"Blossom come here girl."

The mare abandoned her grazing and ambled slowly towards them. When she was close enough Amelia stood and took the reins leading the mare so she was side-on to the young man's head.

"Down girl, down." Amelia urged pulling the reins down to let Blossom know what she wanted her to do.

Blossom folded her legs underneath her and lowered herself to the ground. Amelia put her arms under the man's shoulders and dragged him the short distance to Blossom's side, Pearl dancing around at the man's feet.

With Blossom waiting patiently somehow Amelia with Pearl's help managed to roll the man onto his front before moving to Blossom's other side and grabbing the man's arms pulled him up and over the saddle. When she was satisfied that his weight was balanced on either side she laid her hand on the young man's back and told Blossom to stand. As Blossom gained her feet and for one horrifying moment Amelia thought he was going to topple from the saddle back to the ground possibly breaking his neck in the process, but once the mare was standing the man's weight seemed to distribute itself across the mare's back; arms dangling over one side and legs the other. Keeping one hand on the man's back in between his broad shoulders she took Blossom's bridal and clucked her forward as fast as she dared in the direction of the house.

----------KITA----------

Sam awoke to the persistent ringing of a phone. There was something hard under his ear and the hand trapped under his body was numb. He dragged his eyes open, closing them immediately with a groan as a sliver of light that pierced a crack in the pulled curtain. Shooting a burning path of pain into the back of his eyes. Before he had gathered the courage to open his eyes again the phone stopped ringing and he heard the muted sound of Bobby conversing with whoever was on the other end.

Putting a hand up as a shield to avoid another stab of lightening assaulting his retinas he bravely cracked open his eyes pushing himself up into a sitting position against the back of the lounge, the rug that had been across his legs slid to the floor, landing in a heap beside an empty bottle of whiskey. _Did I drink that? _The tingling in his hand as the circulation returned and the fact that it was daytime was like a poke with a blunt stick; it kick started his brain the memories of the last few days rushing back in a wave that nearly swamped him.

"Damn it." _How could I have slept when Dean is out there somewhere, alone, hurt, maybe… dying?_

Throbbing head a churning stomach and the sour taste in his mouth forgotten he lurched to his feet and dragged himself across the room his toe catching the smooth edge of the whiskey bottle upsetting his somewhat precarious balance sending him stumbling forward into the closed sliding doors. He angrily pulled them open with more force than was necessary.

Bobby reached across the paper and book strewn desk and banged the phone back into its cradle, staring daggers at the offending item that had just brought the news he didn't want to hear. His eyes pulled to the sound of the doors to the lounge room sliding open with so much force they almost jumped off the tracks.

6 foot 4 of Sam filled the doorway; clothing disheveled, hair every which way, hazel eyes red rimmed and shadowed by dark bruised looking skin, a 3 day growth any rock star would envy, his mouth pulled into a thin angry line.

"Bobby why did you let me sleep so long, I -" His angry tirade halted by the look on Bobby's face, he rounded the desk and squatted down in front of Bobby's chair. "Bobby what is it? Who was on the phone?"

Bobby's dark hazel eyes were brimming with tears. His voice held a quaver of emotion. "A guy I helped out awhile ago with a poltergeist, he owed me a favor, so I called it in. I rang him last night; he said he'd get back to me when he knew something."

"Get back to you when he knew something about what?"

"This guy lives in Oklahoma City works for the sheriff's department."

"Oklahoma City, this have something to do with Dean, doesn't it? Did someone find him?"

"Sam they pulled a body out of Panther Creek last evening a couple a miles south of Gerty."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his shaggy head in denial.

"Sam I'm sorry I am and as much as I hate to say it the description matches; six one, short brown hair approximately thirty to thirty five years old."

Sam continued to shake his head, muttering. "Nonononono."

Bobby laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam I-"

Sam's eyes flew open and he surged to his feet dislodging Bobby's hand from his shoulder, he backed away from the older man, the look in his eyes causing Bobby's breathe to catch in his throat. "It's not Dean… it… it can't be Dean, Bobby… It. Can't. Be. Dean."

A broken sob was torn from his throat before he turned and yanked open the kitchen door and ran outside. His footsteps echoed on the steps leading into the scrap yard.

"Sam where you goin boy?" Bobby yelled towards the open door, wheeling himself as quickly as he could to the doorway just in time to see Sam disappear into the rows of decaying hulks piled up in disorderly chaos for as far as the eye could see.

----------KITA----------

The smothering oppressing fog surrounding him lifted a little. He could smell leather and hear what sounded like the rhythmic creak of leather on leather. He was also aware of movement that he was moving, rocking, an uneven rocking, causing him to shift weakly trying to alleviate the pain that filled his head pulsing and throbbing without mercy, but that only made it worse intensifying his torment and try as he might he couldn't stop the groan of agony that escaped his trembling lips. The rocking stopped abruptly a moment later he felt his chin being lifted and turned gently and a light touch on his forehead a soft voice murmuring close to his ear but for the life of him he couldn't make out the words but the tone was soothing and he sank back into that place that was silent and pain free.

----------KITA----------

The young man groaned. Amelia pulled Blossom to a halt. She had hoped he wouldn't regain his senses until she got back to the house, knowing his awkward position draped across Blossoms back had to be causing added pain and discomfort to his battered body. She tucked her fingers under his chin and lifted his head up and to the side looking into his bruised pale face; he wasn't really conscious his eyes moved under closed lids and his face was lined with pain. She placed her other hand gently against his forehead and noted with alarm his skin that had been ice cold minutes ago was now clammy and warm.

"I'm sorry I know it hurts we'll be there soon, I'm going to take care of you."

His face relaxed a little and his head became heavy in her hand as he drifted away again.

----------KITA----------

More movement his body was being pulled backwards across rough ground and then up what felt like the side of a stepped mountain intensifying the agony in his head. It banged painfully as he was bumped along. _"Stop, please… stop."_ He begged, although it was only in his mind as not one word passed his lips. The bumping continued for what felt like forever. Eventually the bumping stopped whether it was because he had actually stopped being dragged or because his brain could stand no more and short-circuited cutting off the pain filled signals concentrated in his head.

----------KITA----------

Amelia tried to cushion the young man's body as she pulled him from Blossoms back, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs most of the man's body was sprawled across Amelia leaving her lungs devoid of air. Pearl pranced beside the entwined pair, barking excitedly. After she had recovered her breath she extricated herself out from underneath the young man's body. Amelia rolled the young man onto his back and took him under the arms. Pearl bouncing along behind she began to pull him backwards across the rough ground up the 5 steps onto the porch that ran across the width of the house. As she lowered him to the porch the back of the young man's head rapped loudly against the boards. Amelia winced in sympathy sorry that she had caused him more pain. She stopped for a few moments to get her breath Obsi her coal black cat that had wandered in 2 years ago and decided to stay raised his regal head from his paws regarding her curiously with cool green eyes from his favorite spot on one of the well used wicker chairs, before losing interest dropping his head back down on his paws returning to his favorite pastime, sleeping.

Opening the door into the kitchen Amelia glanced around making sure there were no obstacles in her path before going back to the man taking him under the arms once more and with a final burst of energy she pulled him over the threshold into the safety of the house, were she could begin to try and save his life.

_**To be continued…**_

How will Sam cope now that he believes his brother to be dead? Dean has been rescued from the creek but is his rescuer too late to save him?

Please review.

_Silvertayl_


	4. Chapter 4

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:  
**See Chapter 1

**Beta:  
**_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:  
**Thanks to all who reviewed chapter 3. A big Silvertayl welcome to all the new lurkers who put KITA on alert. It would be really terrific if you could take just a few moments to drop me a line and let me know what you think, I would be ever so grateful. I always answer my reviews.

So here's chapter 4, enjoy.

****

Chapter 4: Fever Dreams

After pulling him through the door Amelia had managed to drag him onto the sofa not even entertaining the idea of trying to wrestle his muscular heavy frame up the stairs into Nick's old bedroom.

Amelia knew she needed to undress him so she could treat all his injuries the ones she could see and the ones that were perhaps hidden under his clothing. His clothes were all burned and ripped and were mostly only good for rags. She pulled off his sopping boots and socks then wrestled the wet jeans off, she felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks as she reached for the waistband of his shorts, quickly pulling her hand away deciding to leave the mostly dry shorts in place so the poor thing could retain some modesty even though he had no idea what was happening; he hadn't stirred since that one time on the way back to the house.

She had to cut away his jacket, shirt and tee shirt. The ruined black tee shirt was stuck to his skin as she peeled it away her eyes were drawn to the tattoo high on his chest, slightly to the left over his heart. It was some kind of symbol; Amelia had seen it before; she remembered seeing something about it on TV as being a protection symbol from black magic the occult and witchcraft. _A pentagram_ _that's what it is! _A 5 pointed star in a circle. But this one differed from the one she'd seen on that show it was surrounded by a ring of flames.

The more disturbing thing was the raised, red, raw-looking hand print that marred the skin of the muscular tanned freckled symmetry of his upper arm just below his shoulder. It looked like a burn or more like a brand. Amelia knew it had to have hurt abominably at the time. _Who would have done such a thing? _She gave a tut of disapproval as she ran the pad of her index finger over the scarred brand.

Getting back to business she patted the man's skin with a towel his fingers and toes were ice cold, blue and pruned from his time in the water. In turn she wrapped his feet and hands in the towel and rubbed briskly, trying to get some warmth and circulation into his extremities. Then she covered him with the old patchwork quilt she herself had made many years ago that she kept near the sofa for those nights that were getting colder but not cold enough to light the fire she had in the fireplace and went to fetch her first aid supplies from the bathroom upstairs.

As Amelia descended the stairs carrying the kit she heard sounds of distress coming from the young man. It sounded like he was choking; so she hurried the rest of the way to his side. His head was lifted off the cushion she had placed under his head and he was spluttering discolored water from his mouth and nose which ran down both sides of his face disappearing into his hair. Quickly she pulled him onto his side close to the edge of the sofa, tipping his head down towards the floor she held him firmly in place with one hand against his forehead as his body heaved and shuddered his lungs and stomach ridding itself of water he had swallowed from the hours he had spent in the creek.

When it was over he was limp and spent; there was a puddle of discolored water on the floor beside her; she laid his lax body back down against the cushion and patted his face and neck with the towel she had used earlier.

"Better out than in they say." She said to him before she mopped up the puddle of water. She washed her hands before she got down to treating his wounds.

The cut along his hairline was deep and long but didn't need any stitching she cleaned it with antiseptic but left it uncovered she did the same for the long jagged nasty looking gash on the inside of his right forearm, but wrapped a bandage around his arm to keep it clean and dry.

Amelia ran into the garden and broke off a couple of stems from the Aloe plant she kept for treating burns and stings hurrying back to the stranger she opened up the green stems exposing the thick colorless gel inside. Scooping the gel out she rubbed the thick sticky gel like substance into the burns on his face and arm.

There were numerous bits of wood and other unidentifiable things buried in the skin of his face and throat with a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass she extracted the splinters of wood and what turned out to be tiny slivers of glass and metal, some of the deeper ones welling up with blood once the foreign bits were removed. Amelia dabbed them all with antiseptic. His chest had some bruising and a couple of small nicks which she also cleaned with antiseptic, but rest of his body was relatively unscathed. It seemed his clothing had saved his lower half from too much further damage; any exposed skin and the front of him taking the brunt of whatever had happened to him.

If she didn't know any better she would think he had been in some kind of explosion. And if that was the case then how did he end up in the creek?

It was a couple of hours before he started to show signs of fever, she stuck the new fangled thermometer she'd bought on her last trip into Ada into his ear the reading was 100.2, at this stage only slightly elevated so she pulled a blanket from Nick's bed and lay it over the colorful quilt. A half hour later when he began to move his arms and legs weakly under the blankets and his head tossed from side to side Amelia took his temperature again 102.1_._It had gone up nearly 2 degrees in a fairly short space of time.

Amelia filled a deep bowl with cool water added a few ice cubes from the freezer soaked a face washer in the water. Putting the bowl down on the floor beside the recumbent man she perched on the edge of the sofa rung out the face washer and gently wiped his face throat and arms down.

Four hours later after 3 changes of water her hands were stiff and sore from the repetitive process and still the man's temperature climbed alarmingly to 103.6. His face was flushed but not a drop of sweat oozed from his pores; he shivered constantly and his breath was becoming labored and wheezy. Half an hour after that he began to cough a cough that was accompanied with an ominous rattle deep in his chest.

As Amelia rung out yet another cloth she bit her lip a habit she had all her life when she was worried or stressed. She hoped his fever broke soon before his temperature went up any higher. A fever over a 104 could lead to convulsions, brain damage and even death.

She tried 3 times to get a few drops of tepid water past his cracked lips but each time most or maybe all of it dribbled back out.

The man looked so young, vulnerable and helpless, his eyes moved rapidly under swollen lids. She had a horrible feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that she would never get to see the color of his eyes. A purple/reddish bruise was spreading down towards his right eye from the angry cut on his forehead. His cracked and dry lips parted and he began to speak low in his throat, Amelia leaned forward to try to hear the mumbled indistinct words.

"…to know… please... don't go?"

She lifted the cool cloth away from his forehead threw it in the bowl and cupped her hand around his flushed shivering cheek. "Shhh, it's alright I'm right here I'm not going to leave you."

Whether he heard her or not she didn't know for sure but he turned his face into her hand and quieted again.

Amelia rung out the cloth and placed it across his throat. She reached out her hand and smoothed his hair away for his burning hot dry forehead. "It will be alright I'm looking after you."

As if in denial his head began to toss from side to side and under the blanket his legs moved as if he were running. Then he went limp and completely still. Amelia covered her mouth with her hand trying to stifle her rising panic.

Then without warning his head and shoulders lifted away from the sofa his cracked lips opened wide and he screamed.

The hoarse, desperate sound chilled her to her very marrow.

Amelia had vowed on that cold windy day in February nearly 18 years ago when that man dressed in an army uniform had knocked on her front door with a letter for her; a letter telling her that Nick was dead that she would never bow her head in prayer again.

After all whose years she broke that vow and prayed for the handsome stranger.

-KITA-

_He blinked his eyes open he was laying on his back; heat was all around him; 10 feet above him was a ceiling of dark red/orange, shimmering rock. He could feel the heat radiating off it and more heat along the length of his back, his butt and the back of his legs where he lay naked against the cavern floor. His instincts told him he had felt such intense overwhelming heat before but he didn't know how he knew that. Clambering laboriously to his feet he glanced around he was surrounded, enclosed in a cavern of superheated, glowing rock that looked like it was on the verge of becoming molten. The heat radiating from the heated stone seared into the flesh of his naked body. His skin itched and prickled and felt stretched taught across his muscles and bones ready to sizzle away and disintegrate. The red hot rough cavern floor surface beneath his feet began to burn through the soles of his bare feet; in a minute he would be standing in a bubbling puddle of his own melted flesh and blood. Yet there was nowhere to escape the overpowering heat. He was powerless to try and stop the creep of heat and fire that was consuming him from the ground up. _

_Without warning the glowing wall immediately in front of him burst into flame and melted away in a sea of molten lava, he put his arm up to try to shield his face from the added heat. A moment later the flames and the added heat were gone and he was staring at the red tinged swirling light streaming in through the ragged hole in the cavern wall. He blinked the sweat out his eyes, staring at the man silhouetted in the light; dark haired, dressed in white clothing so white it hurt to look at. The man moved away from the cavern entrance and was quickly swallowed up by the red light. _

_Something told him this man was responsible for setting him free from his hot as Hades prison and it was important that he find him. _I have to know who he is.

_He stepped through arched rough hole in the cavern wall avoiding the molten rock dripping from the top of the hole straight into a desert sand storm; a sea of red sand swirled around him as a desert wind obscured everything within a few inches. He turned back toward the cavern exit but he could no longer see it the sand obscured everything; he was surrounded now by a mass of eddying, driving, stinging sand. Not knowing what else to do he began to walk his bare back to the worst of the wind the skin that had moments before been seared by heat now being sandblasted and peppered with a billion grains of sand. _

_He walked for what felt like miles but in this wind was no more than only a few feet and suddenly as quickly as it had arrived the sand storm was gone just like that. All was calm he was standing in a vast desert of red shimmering rippling sand; the bright orange ball of the sun sitting low over the top of a sand dune that loomed up in front of him. Shielding his eyes he could make out the tall white clad figure of the man he had seen before standing atop the dune; the sun behind the man cast the a long shadow that finished at his bare feet. _

"_Hey you, did you free me? Hey I want to talk to you, who are you and where am I?" His voice was raspy and rough from lack of moisture and the ever present sand that coated the inside of his throat._

_Ignoring him or not hearing his scratchy questions the tall figure turned and began to move away descending the other side of the dune steadily disappearing from sight._

"_Please… wait, where am I, who are you?" He called out to the ever diminishing figure, his next words in comparison were almost whispered, "please I have to know… please... don't go?" He could hear the desperation in his voice._

_As the top of the strangers head disappeared below the ridge of the dune he began to run, scrambling up the side of the dune. Exhausted when he reached the top he collapsed onto his face; fine grains of red sand clinging to every inch of his sweat dampened skin where it contacted the dune._

_Panting with exhaustion he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, looking down the other side of the dune hoping the stranger was still in sight, but all he saw was white. The landscape stretching away into the distance was now covered in ice and snow; a trail of footsteps where the stranger had walked stopped abruptly about 15 feet from the base of the snow bank that had moments before been sand. He looked down; the sand that had been underneath him was also gone it too was frozen and hard, and so cold it burned. His chest instead of being coated in red sand was now coated in icy crystals of snow. His breathe puffed out in a white plume between chattering teeth with every labored exhale and he was cold so cold already his fingers and toes were numb and he shivered constantly._

_Knowing he couldn't stay here and not knowing what else to do he headed down the snow bank following the stranger's footprints. He'd only gone a few steps when he slipped on the slick icy surface tumbling, sliding and rolling down the steep bank he finally came to rest on his back several feet from the bottom of the snow bank, freezing, breathing in cold air that made his throat feel raw and painful, above him a the bright cloudless blue sky hurt his eyes. He closed them against the light._

_When he opened them 10 feet above him was a ceiling of dark red/orange, shimmering rock. He was back where he had started in the cavern staring once again at the ceiling of orange, shimmering, glowing rock._

_He screamed._

-KITA-

Bobby was getting worried.

When Sam hadn't returned after a couple of hours Bobby had wheeled as far out into the yard as he possibly could and called out what must have been a thousand times to Sam. Either Sam was ignoring him or he had kept running was no longer in the yard and out of earshot. The only answer he got was a strained, lamenting caw from a sleek shiny black raven sitting in a tree bordering the back fence of the yard. Going back to the house he rang Sam's cell but it went straight to voice mail. So he'd hauled himself into his truck that had been modified with hand controls and drove out onto the road. He'd driven around for a couple of hours ringing Sam's cell at ten minute intervals and every time it went to voice mail. There was not a sign of Sam's lanky frame anywhere he went back to the house hoping Sam would be there when he returned; no such luck.

Bobby pulled back the curtain and stared out into the darkened yard. It had been dark outside for over an hour and still no sign of Sam returning. Bobby's anxiety grew with every passing minute, his stomach churned with sorrow, nausea and worry. _Where the hell is he? I've lost Dean and now I'm gonna loose Sam as well? No, no I can't I won't let that happen. I need help._

Letting the curtain fall back into place Bobby wheeled to the desk, picked up the phone and punched in the number Dean had given him some time ago, but until now had never had a reason to use. It rang 2 times before it was answered.

"Hello." The voice was deep and a little gruff sounding.

"Cas its Bobby, Bobby Singer."

"Yes hello Bobby Singer."

"I was wondering if you could get to my place ASAP I need help with something." The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a stir of air behind him and heard the gentle flutter of wings.

Turning the chair he found the trench coat clad angel standing in the middle of the room his intelligent startling blue eyes flitting around as if looking for something or someone.

"What kept you?" Bobby asked sarcastically, as he hung up the phone.

Cas' steely gaze moved to his face. "I came as soon as you called."

"I'm kiddin', you idjit."

Cas looked puzzled for a moment before he started to wander around the room. "I'm sorry I don't understand your humor. You said you needed help so I came. Sam and Dean are not here?" Cas stated the obvious.

"No they're the reason I need your help."

Cas must have heard something in Bobby's tone. He stopped his slow walk around the room and turned to Bobby. "Has something happened tell me what you need me to do?"

-KITA-

Sioux Falls wasn't the most populated city in the US but boasted at least a half dozen bars still it had taken Cas awhile to locate Sam at the second last one.

JJ's Bar had few patrons at this hour. It seemed it was too early for serious drinking.

A middle-aged couple sat at a booth on the left near the door an antique jukebox on the right just inside the door played quietly; some country singer droning on about love lost. A blousy scantily dressed woman seated at on a bar stool against the bar to the right lifted a long stemmed glass filled with some kind of sparkling wine to her dark red lips. At the far end of the bar a sweaty, obese man; Cas assumed was JJ; wearing a grubby apron was cleaning glasses with an even grubbier looking bar rag, looked up at the dark haired man wearing a trench coat that had just entered for a moment before turning his attention back to the glasses.

Cas made his way to the back of the bar; that's where he finally found Sam.

He was jammed into a booth at the dimly lit rear of the bar, nursing a glass of amber liquor, shaggy head bent and shoulders hunched over the table littered with numerous empty beer bottles and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels; another half empty bottle of the same at his elbow within easy reach.

Cas slid silently into the booth opposite Sam.

His hunter instincts dulled from an over abundance of liquor, Sam was unaware for a few moments that he had company. Eventually he lifted his head and squinted across the table at Cas his expressive hazel eyes were red rimmed and filled with such abject misery and sadness, Cas was momentarily taken aback.

He lifted the glass in salute.

"Hey Cas care for a drink?" His words slurred and indistinct, "there's plenty to go around."

"Sam, Bobby told me what happened he's very worried about you, he asked me to find you, and you need to come with me."

Sam shook his head. "No don't want to, getting pissed."

"Sam getting pissed as you put it won't help and it won't bring Dean back."

The bartender looked up as Sam slammed the glass down on the table bourbon slopped over the side of the glass running onto the sticky scarred wooden table top. "No it won't but it helps me to forget that it's my fault Dean's dead."

"Bobby told me what happened. I don't understand why do you feel this is your fault?" Cas really wanted to understand.

Sam ran his hands through his hair drew in a breath letting it out between pursed lips. "I was too slow. If I'd got Everly's bones salted and burned faster Dean would be here now not lying on a coroners slab.

"I'm sorry Sam." Cas' hand snaked across the table. Sam's inebriated state slowed his reactions. When he realized what Cas was about to do and before he could pull back Cas touched his index and middle finger to Sam's forehead.

The bartender glanced up for the second time in as many minutes at the back booth worried that the freakishly tall young man who had been sitting there all evening getting steadily and quietly drunk was gonna be trouble now that he had been joined by a not so tall companion, hoping he didn't have to go to the bother of tossing them out and was surprised to find the booth empty.

-KITA-

The stranger's temperature continued to rise alarmingly to 104.2. Amelia persevered with the cool compresses until the early hours of the morning.

That's when everything changed.

He drew in a shuddering, hitching breath and his shivering body went still, too still.

It felt to Amelia like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting… waiting for the stranger to exhale or die. As one second turned to two and three, the man's face blurred before her as tears welled in her eyes one escaped the lashes framing her gray eyes and trailed down her cheek.

At first she thought it was the tears in her eyes that made her think she saw the slight movement of his chest. She searched his face and thought she saw a drop of moisture on his forehead. She blinked the tears away and leaned closer. The drop of moisture she thought she had seen was joined by another and the then another.

Not yet daring to believe her own eyes she lay a hand against his skin over the tattoo that guarded his heart and felt the dampness of his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

The fever had broken he was sweating. He was going to live.

Amelia bent her head. She didn't wipe away the tears that flowed freely. It was as if the dam had burst and couldn't be contained she let her warm, salty tears fall onto the stranger's face to mingle with his perspiration.

_**To be continued…**_

Thanks to Amelia Dean is going to live HUZZAH!

Sam is blaming himself for the circumstances that he wrongly believes led to Dean's death.

When Sam went AWOL, Bobby called in some angelic assistance.

Please review.

_Silvertayl_


	5. Chapter 5

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

Thanks for all the kind comments on the last chapter. Here's chapter 5.

Chapter 5: Awakenings

He was drifting, drifting closer and closer towards consciousness and now there was light pressing against his closed eyelids. He wasn't sure if he wanted to wake or stay in that state somewhere in between. One thing for sure he didn't want to go back to that looping, repeating horrific nightmare, somehow he knew if he did sink back into slumber it would be waiting for him and he couldn't go through it again; the heat, the sand the cold and that mysterious man always out of reach. And besides there were immediate and intimate issues that needed to be addressed.

The most prominent and most prevalent was the pain in his head. Someone with short person syndrome, a leprechaun or a gnome had crawled inside his head and was pounding the inside of his skull with a mallet; every impact of the mallet increased the throbbing tenfold. The second and fast becoming the most urgent was the ache in his bladder, it was full to overflowing and wouldn't be ignored for too much longer. The third and less imminent or painful was the weight pressing down on his upper chest. The fourth was thirst he so dry he felt like he could drink a whole bathtub fall of water, clean water of course not water someone had been bathing in.

With a groan of frustration, pain and need he opened his eyes. Swimming into sight above him was a black furry, whiskered face with a pair of wide green eyes.

"Whoa what the hell?" He said his voice scratchy and rough, the pain in his head increased.

The black fur parted revealing a set of white teeth a pink tongue slid out from between the teeth.

He froze.

He felt the touch of rough wet sandpaper like tongue against his cheek, _a cat's tongue_. He had a black cat sitting on him licking him like he was a bowl of milk.

The green-eyed feline sitting on his chest gave another half dozen swipes of its tongue along the same spot leaving a tingling in its wake; its cool green eyes gave him a long last look before with a twist of its sleek body it jumped off his chest and out of sight; he heard a solid thump as its paws hit the floor.

The cat's face was replaced by an ornate chandelier, looking out of place hanging from a once white but now yellowed and peeling ceiling.

Risking further pain he turned his head to get a look at his surroundings, instantly regretting the movement as dizziness hit him and the thumping in his head increased.

He groaned squeezing his eyes shut waiting for the dizziness to pass.

After a minute he opened his eyes again, moving them to the right he saw the back of a couch covered in once colorful faded plaid fabric.

Curious to know how he had come to be on a strange couch with a strange black cat licking his face and the mother of all hangovers; he

gingerly levered himself up and back against the hard arm of the couch behind him the blanket and quilt that had been pulled up to his shoulders falling away from his naked chest; his head, body and yeah his bladder protesting the movement awakening aches and pains he had been unaware of whilst lying an reminding him of his need to use the john.

Once again he waited for the throbbing and pain to settle taking a deep breath which turned out to be a mistake as a racking fit of coughing followed the exhale of air.

When that passed after what felt like an eternity leaving him light-headed, shaking and sweating he groaned again opening eyes he hadn't been aware were closed. He expected to see one or both of his lungs on his lap.

All that was there was the scrunched up quilt and blanket. A bandage was wrapped around his right forearm; the skin of his left arm was red and blistered, a bruise of multi colors cupped his shoulder, he could see small nicks on his upper chest and the skin on his face particularly the left felt stretched, sore and prickly.

Turning his head slowly he took in his surroundings. To his left was a fireplace, a fire was set in the grate but not lit. A set of iron fire implements sat to one side; 2 high backed chairs covered in the same fabric as the sofa he laid on separated by a 2 foot round wooden table with ornately carved legs a vase of colorful flowers centered on top on a white lace doily flanked a worn and somewhat threadbare rug covered the space between the couch and the fire. To the left of the fireplace was an old TV on a stand. On the adjoining wall beside the TV and below a window the lace curtains pulled back from a sash window was a huge old fashioned stereo the kind that had a hinged lid concealing the turntable. On the other side of the stereo was around coat stand a dark colored raincoat hang limply from one of the hooks; the coat stand was beside a solid looking paneled door that appeared to be a front door. He slowly panned back to the fireplace; to the right of it the fire implements was a tall lamp with a fringed shade; the light was on sending defused low wattage electric light across the room. On the adjoining wall which would be the back wall was a huge bookcase standing about 7 feet high and 7 wide, it was chockablock full with both large and small hard cover and dog-eared paperbacks. The bookcase was flanked by another window identical to the one on the other side of the room.

H e didn't recognize the room. _Where am I and how did I get here?_

To one side of the couch was a smaller version of the round table in front of the fire; this one had a glass bowl containing potpourri on a lace doily. The fresh scent of lilac, lavender, lily or some sort of L flower rose from the bowl into the air.

Behind him on the far wall was a set of wooden carpeted stairs ascending to an upper floor. Underneath the stairs was a closet of some kind and beside that was a doorway. Through the doorway he could see a stainless steel sink an open window above it framed with the same white lace curtains as in here.

He had to find the can fast or he was gonna be sitting in his own piss.

With a deep breath he pushed aside the covers and one at a time he swung his legs onto the rug covered floor. He was clad only in a somewhat battered pair of boxer shorts. With one arm braced against the arm of the couch and the hand of his bandaged arm braced against the cushioned seat beside him he levered himself to his feet.

He knew straight away this was a bad idea; his legs were weak and rubbery and threatened to give away under his own weight; his head throbbed and he was lightheaded from the change of altitude and the room was spinning. Clutching on to the arm of the couch with his left hand he reached out blindly with his right looking for some kind of support. A soft but firm voice rang out from behind him.

"What are you doing?"

He half turned towards the voice but found his legs couldn't cope with the movement and refused to hold him up a second longer and he was going down. A firm hand grasped him under his elbow another wrapped around his back lowering him the rest of the way back onto the couch.

Through the fog that filled his aching head he heard the voice sounding a long way off.

"You shouldn't have tried to get up you're still very weak."

He felt a light tap on his hand. "Here drink this, it will help."

Opening his eyes he saw a glass of water being held out to him in a slightly gnarled hand. His own hand trembled as he reached for the glass when he finally latched onto it the hand that had been holding the glass wrapped around his trembling one helping guide the glass to his lips.

The glass clattered against his teeth for a moment before he could open his mouth wide enough to insert the lip of the glass; his lips felt dry and cracked; the hand around his urged the cool water into his mouth it slid across his swollen tongue filling his mouth, he swallowed it down. It coated his parched, sandpaper lined throat, leaving a path of soothing relief in its wake.

After he had taken another few mouthfuls, he sighed, leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. He felt the glass being taken out of his lax grip, heard a clink of glass on wood as she put the glass down. A moment later the sofa beside him dipped.

He turned his head opening his eyes to look at the woman who had saved him from his own stupidity and the embarrassment of face planting on the rug.

A heart-shaped fair skinned face, framed by wispy strands of silver hair escaping from a loose ponytail, soft gray weary looking eyes crinkled laughter lines at the corners, a small well-shaped mouth that lifted at the corners when she saw he was looking at her.

"Better?" Her tone was cultured and soft, motherly.

"Yeah I guess." He answered his voice not so scratchy with the addition of the moisture.

"Why don't you lie back down?"

He gave his head a tiny shake. "Can't I've got to go, you know…like yesterday."

She dropped her eyes. "Oh my, I see," her face colored with embarrassment; "do you think you can make it up the stairs to the bathroom? I don't have a toilet down here."

"Yeah I think so, I'm gonna have to, otherwise you are going to have a ginormous wet patch on your couch."

"Wait, I just remembered, I think I still have it," she said cryptically as she patted his arm and stood. He heard her footsteps ascending the stairs behind him.

He pulled his shaking, jelly legs together trying to bide some time. A minute later he heard her come back down. She held a white ceramic chamber pot by the handle the pot was decorated with a chain of tiny violets that circled the pot. She thrust it towards him a pleased smile on her face.

"You can use this."

His eyes widened with alarm and he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Are you kidding me, no way I'm not gonna pee in that, I'll make it upstairs, if it kills me!" He once again attempted to get to his feet.

She wrapped her small hand around his arm for support. "Boy you sure are a stubborn one."

Even with her support he only made it one step before his rubbery legs betrayed him yet again. Within a few seconds he was back on the couch.

"Damn it." He said thumping his fist on the couch in frustration.

"Now that's settled are you going to be sensible and use this?" She was once again holding out the purple flower covered chamber pot.

He eyed the pot, knowing he no longer had a choice. With more force than was necessary he snatched the pot from her hands.

She stood in front of him a satisfied smile on her face.

"Alright then. If you don't mind I'd like some privacy?" He said with a smirk.

"Oh… oh of course I'm sorry; I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

"I think I can manage thanks."

Realizing what she'd said she blushed to the roots of her silver head, and then stammered, "Oh my, I didn't mean… I mean… umm, I'll be in the kitchen, holler when you've finished.

She hastily made her way towards the open door; he looked over his shoulder and smiled at her stiff, retreating back.

He worked his shorts down his legs and without having to stand balancing on the edge of the couch he quickly took care of business then wiggled the shorts back up into place. Not knowing what to do with the nearly half full pot he placed it carefully on the floor slightly to one side of the couch.

"All done." He called out.

When she came back in he noted she had somewhat regained her composure. Her face was no longer reddened but she kept her eyes averted.

Without a word she picked up the pot and took it away.

With that and his thirst taken care of the only immediate problem he had was the pain in his head and the general aches and pains all over his body and now he felt drained as the efforts of the last few minutes had sapped his meager strength.

He lay back against the couch and closed his eyes, he drifted into a light, restless sleep, vaguely aware when some time later she lifted his legs and swung them back onto the couch, before covering him and tucking the quilt around him.

"_Thank you." _He wanted to say but he couldn't summon the energy to say the words out loud, so he said them in his mind, hoping she would know. As he drifted away again he thought he heard her say _"You're welcome." _then he realized something, something important. _I don't even know her name._

-KITA-

One minute he had been in the bar getting quietly and steadily drunk; drowning his sorrows, trying to forget. Then Cas had shown up touched his fingers to his forehead and the next thing he was waking surrounded by the iron walls of the panic room.

To his surprise he was only mildly hung-over. No throbbing head ache and churning nausea, just a dull thick feeling in his head and a sour taste in his mouth. Sitting up slowly on the thin mattress of the cot he looked around him.

Above him daylight filtered in through the vent; the fan that circulated the air turned sluggishly causing the light to flicker oddly around the room.

Daylight that meant he'd been here at least all night, maybe longer. The memories of the last time he was locked in here bombarded him. An involuntary shiver slid down his spine. That time and the choices he made after that were things he didn't want to remember in a hurry.

That was when it hit him a light bulb moment so to speak. Like in the cartoons when a light bulb appears above someone's head in a comic bubble. _What am I doing? Moping around getting drunk, feeling sorry for myself. Dean's gone. I've lost my brother nothing is gonna change that. It's not what Dean would want; he'd want me to continue the fight. If he could see me now I know what he'd say. "Come on Sammy up and at 'em, gotta fight the good fight; there's a war on you know? Get out there and finish what we started."_

"What we started? What I started more like." He muttered to himself.

But there was something equally if not more important that he had to do first. All he'd needed to do was to get the hell outta here first.

He tried the door; even though he knew it would be bolted. From there he wondered around the circular room looking for a means of escape and finding none after all this was a panic room specially designed and built to keep the people inside in and the people outside out.

A minute later Sam heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs leading down from the house and stood going to the door.

The peep panel slid open and Cas' face appeared in the rectangular opening for a moment disappearing again before the lock slid back and the door was pulled open.

Before the angel said anything Sam said. "Cas you gotta let me out. Why am I even in here?"

Cas glanced around the room. "Bobby thinks it's for your own good. He wants to talk to you." Cas answered.

Cas stepped aside away from the doorway, indicating he wanted Sam to precede him. With a glance at Cas Sam stepped over the lip of the iron doorway into the hallway and then up the stairs.

Bobby was sitting in the lounge room, waiting. As Sam came in closely followed by Cas he looked up and his eyes were full of sadness.

"Locking me in the panic room is that really necessary?" Sam said his anger tempered by that look.

"Just being careful."

"I got drunk, big deal. Do you blame me? My brother is dead."

"I'm worried about what else you might do."

"Bobby please don't force me to stay down there… not after the last time," Sam paused then continued, "I've got something important I have to take care of."

Bobby shook his head, avoiding the look that Dean had always called Sam's puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry Sam I have to keep you locked up until I know your heads in a better place."

"What is it you think I'm gonna do, exactly?" Sam asked; his anger resurfacing.

"Knowing the track record of you Winchesters it sure as hell wouldn't be anything good."

"What the hell, Bobby you think I'm stupid enough to make another deal?"

"Mind your tone, boy. I'm doing this for your own good."

"You know what would be for my own good? Let me go I want to get Dean and bring him back here."

"I wish I could Sam, but no."

"I can't leave him there." Sam paused, "this place apart from the Impala was the closest thing to a home he ever knew."

Bobby's eyes filled with emotion. "I know that, but Sam now that Dean's gone you're all I got left. I'm barely holdin' on. I can't… " his voice broke, "lose you too; it would be the death of me, boy."

Sam hunkered down in front of Bobby. "You don't think I know that? I understand I do. I'm in the same boat you're all I have. You won't lose me Bobby, I promise. I have to bring him back here, I don't want him buried in a grave with John Doe engraved on the stone, he deserves so much better."

Bobby's tear filled eyes settled on Sam. "Yeah he does," Bobby gave a nod of approval, "okay go bring him home."

"If you like I can bring him back? it will be quicker." Cas' earnest voice intervened.

Both men had forgotten the angel's presence. Sam twisted around on his haunches to look at him.

"Thanks for the offer but I would rather go myself and bring him back in the Impala."

Cas gave a small nod, his blue eyes flicked between Sam and Bobby. "I understand."

And with that he was gone. The ensuing draft left by the departing angel stirred Sam's hair and sent loose papers into the air they danced to and fro before they fluttered silently to the floor.

Sam turned back to Bobby with a half smile. "Dean hates it when he does that."

"I can see why," Bobby said as one of the phones on the wall rang. He wheeled around the desk saying to Sam. "Don't go yet I'm gonna make us somein' to eat before you head out, he then picked up the phone and said into it, "Singer salvage."

Sam stood from his crouched position and moved over to the sofa, sitting back with a sigh. His thoughts half on Bobby's conversation and the sad journey he was about to make. His and Dean's final journey in the Impala together.

It was the change in Bobby's tone that brought Sam's attention to the now intense sounding phone conversation.

Sam couldn't see Bobby's face but he could sense that this was something big. "You're absolutely positive," a long pause, "right well thanks for letting me know I appreciate it."

Sam sat forward on the sofa as Bobby hung up and turned the chair back towards Sam.

He had a strange look on his face. A mixture of doubt, disbelief and hope.

"Bobby what is it?"

"You're never gonna believe it, I'm not sure I do."

"Believe what?"

"That was the guy at the sheriff's department in Oklahoma City."

"And?" Sam sat forward until only the edge of his butt was in contact with the sofa; legs bent almost double in front of him.

"The body they pulled out of the creek has been identified and claimed by the family."

The impact of this statement took a moment to sink in, and then hope sawed. "Are you telling me that it's… not Dean?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep."

Sam ran his hands through his hair, in a gesture Bobby had seen many times before. "Then Dean's alive."

-KITA-

When Amelia came back down stairs the emptied and rinsed chamber pot in her hand she found him slumped back against the sofa, asleep. She placed the pot on the floor close by before she lifted his legs swinging them back onto the couch, tucking the covers back around him.

He muttered something that sounded like. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Amelia answered.

After all the exertions of the last ten minutes on his weakened body he had fallen into a restless, exhausted sleep.

Amelia had come to the conclusion that although she didn't know him; this man was very complex. Amelia had seen some of the facets that were so obviously an integral part of who he was. Stubbornness, determination, embarrassment, pride. She had seen all these in his eyes the set of his jaw and she had a feeling there were many more facets to be revealed.

Amelia folded her arms across her chest cocking her head to one side and studying him intensely; feeling as if she knew him. The burns, cuts and scrapes didn't detract from the familiarity of his face. Those stunning pale green eyes; that bone structure, a fine nose just the tiniest bit off center; those full well-shaped lips; the freckles scattered across his the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, even the tiny scar under his right eye and the small but jagged scar on one side of his jaw. _Where have I seen him before? Somehow his face seems so familiar. I would have remembered him if I had of met him before. How could I forget a face like that?_

As she gazed at him it suddenly came to her; she knew where she had seen that face before. Going over to the bookcase she quickly located the paperback she was looking for in the book case one of if not her favorite and she had read it many times.

Snatching up the dog-eared paperback she smoothed the wrinkled cover as she went back to the sleeping man a short distance away.

She looked from the paperback to the stranger stabbing a finger at the half dressed muscular, brown-haired man on the cover she said to herself. "It's you, you're Damon Knight."

_**To be continued…**_

So Sam and Bobby now know Dean is alive. Whilst Dean is recovering and being cared for by Amelia; after I blew him up and nearly drowned him. Oh dear! Why do I do that?

Thanks for reading; please review.

_Silvertayl_


	6. Chapter 6

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

I struggled writing this chapter I couldn't get it to flow and read as I would have liked and I'm still not 100% happy with it but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer for an update. I hope it reads alright please review and let me know what you think, If you don't like it I promise I won't cry, it's not good for the computer.

**Chapter 6: Set Backs and Dead Ends**

Amelia began to think of him as Damon Knight his striking resemblance to the tortured hero of her favorite novel combined with not knowing the name he was given made it a simple choice.

Damon had been sleeping for several hours after the chamber pot incident Amelia tucked the covers around him making him as comfortable as she thought he could be on the sofa.

"I've got chores to do Damon but I'll be back before you wake, promise." She assured the sleeping man.

She made some hearty chicken and vegetable broth because no doubt Damon would be hungry when he awoke.

With the broth now simmering on a low heat and a quick look in at her patient she went out to the barn to feed and water Blossom.

Obsi jumped down off the wicker chair on the back veranda with his tail up he raced down the steps ahead of Amelia as she made her way to the barn, sliding his sleek slender body through the crack in between the barn door.

Reaching the doors Amelia pulled them open. She caught a glimpse of a black tail as Obsi disappeared into the depths of the barn on the hunt for mice.

As Blossom munched away on her fresh hay Amelia stayed in her stall stroking her silky face and talking to the mare. It was a habit she had gotten into since Nick had been gone.

And Blossom was a good listener she gazed at her with intelligent eyes as she ate, her teeth grinding together as she chewed.

"I'll have to find Damon something to wear now that he's on the mend. Nick's clothes should fit him they are a similar height and size."

As if to agree Blossom shook her head and snorted through her nose, before going back to the business at hand.

When Blossom had eaten her fill she nudged gently at the pocket of Amelia's pants.

"You didn't think I'd forget did you?"

Amelia pulled a carrot from her pocket and fed Blossom's favorite treat to the mare.

"Thanks for helping me save him from the creek."

Blossom snorted again as if to say you're welcome.

Returning from the barn she washed up in the kitchen turned off the heat under the broth then went to check on Damon.

The change in him since she'd been gone made her draw in a sharp breath. As the change she was seeing was a change for the worse not the better. _I haven't been gone that long… have I?_ His face was flushed and sweat slicked and his breathing rapid. The pillow beneath his head was damp with his perspiration.

Amelia touched the back of her hand to his forehead. Heat once again radiated from him.

The thermometer was still on the table nearby she stuck it in his ear and found that his temperature was again over 100, 102.9 to be exact.

The fever was back. _But why? Did I miss something; a wound or some other injury?_

Amelia pulled the covers from him and began searching for the source of the infection. She had to work the bandages away on his arm where it had stuck to the wound, as the bandage came away the sickly sweet smell of infection hit her; the gouge on the inside of his forearm was swollen and raised the skin all around it puffy and inflamed. Thick yellow pus streaked with blood wept from the wound in 2 places and the bandage was covered in the foul smelling filth.

This had to be the source of the fever. Even though she had used antiseptic and cleaned it out it hadn't been enough. Germs from whatever had caused the tear in his skin or maybe bacteria from the creek had taken hold.

Amelia almost ran up the stairs gathering once again her first aid supplies placing them beside him. From there she went to the kitchen; she would make a mustard seed drawing poultice.

Putting some water on to boil then using a mortar and pestle she ground the mustard seeds, added a teaspoon of Olive Oil and some of the now boiling water to the ground seeds mixing it into a thick paste.

Pouring some more of the water into a bowl she took that, the poultice, extra Olive Oil, an empty bowl and a clean towel and placed them close to Damon's side.

She threw the soiled bandages into the empty bowl then soaked a wad of gauze in the water wiping all signs of infection away from the wound so she could see it clearly; throwing the now yellow slimy gauze into the bowl with the bandages.

Amelia wanted to get as much of the poison out before applying the poultice. Patting the skin dry gently with the towel and with a final look at his flushed face; Amelia took a deep breath and started pressing her fingers inward on either side of the wound working her way along the length of the inflamed raw gash. Foul smelling yellow and red streaked thick pus oozed from the gash. She glanced at his face every time she stopped to wipe away the slimy pus; swallowing the sickness that rose in her throat at the cloying smell.

He never moved a muscle during the whole ordeal which was just as well. He just lay with his head against the arm of the sofa sweat beading his face and his color hectic.

When Amelia was satisfied she had milked as much infection from the wound as possible she wiped the wound down with more wet gauze.

Tipping some of the olive oil onto a fresh piece of gauze, she worked the oil into the gauze before placing the gauze over the gash and then she dipped her fingers into the warm poultice and spread it thickly over the gauze. Once satisfied the gash was well covered she wrapped a clean bandage around his arm to keep the poultice in place.

Now that it was over she was exhausted and perspiring. She would check the poultice in 3 hours hopefully one application would be enough to draw what remained of the poison from the wound.

Pulling up the covers and tucking them around him Amelia cleaned away the fouled bandages and the remnants of the poultice she hurried back into the room and stood over him. _Is it my imagination or is his color less hectic. Please let it be so?_

She shivered as the perspiration cooled on her skin. The afternoon had cooled the chill of evening was already in the air. With an exhausted sigh Amelia turned away going over to the fireplace crouched down in front of it brushing the errant hair escaping her ponytail away from her face before lighting the fire.

Amelia looked into the growing flames that warmed her chilled skin. A minute later Pearl padded in and over to Amelia nudging her with her large wet nose.

"Here's my girl, you always turn up when I'm lighting the fire."

Amelia stood patting Pearl's back, switching on the lamp before lowering herself onto the nearest chair watching fascinated as Pearl went over to Damon sniffing delicately at his face before turning back to the fire and settling her big body smack in front of the now leaping crackling flames.

Amelia couldn't remember the last she had felt this bone weary. The tension of caring for the fevered man and the sleepless night had taken its toll on her 64 year old body.

She glanced at the clock on the wall above the TV; over two hours before she needed to check the poultice.

She picked up the book she had placed on the table earlier she gave the cover a long look before she opened it and began to read.

-KITA-

It was late afternoon when Sam had left Bobby's place with a farewell wave in the older hunter's direction he glanced several times in the rearview mirror; he could see Bobby sitting in the doorway of house. His reflection grew smaller until Sam turned out onto the road. Heading south he had been on the road since then without stopping. It had been dark for hours; his butt was numb his neck ached legs cramping not to mention he was hungry and tired and he needed to pee really badly, and then there was Dean's girl she was thirsty the petrol gauge hovering just above empty. A sign loomed up in the Impala's headlights.

_**THE MID WEST HOTEL MOTEL **_

_**OVERNIGHT OR WEEKLY**_

_**FOOD AND FUEL **_

_**2 MILES ON LEFT **_

Everything he and Baby needed.

He'd spent a restless night in The Mid West Hotel Motel 30 miles outside of Wichita. Visions, dreams or were they nightmares of Dean in all sorts of dire situations plagued his less then restful sleep. Waking early feeling less refreshed than when he'd hit the pillow he was on the road just as the sun had broached the horizon.

Two hours later the sun streaming through the open window of the Impala warmed the left side of his face as he sped down the blacktop crossing over the border from Kansas into Oklahoma.

As he got closer to his goal he was formulating a plan a starting point in his search to locate Dean.

His first stop would be Oklahoma city Sheriff's Department. He'd talk to Bobby's contact.

The sheriff's dept was a dead end. Although Bobby's contact had been as helpful as he could be. The only thing Sam had learned from the man was that the body they had pulled out of the creek that had been claimed by the family the previous day was definitely not his brother.

The photos of the body sent over from the coroner's office had shown several likenesses to his brother but Sam could see it definitely wasn't Dean.

From there his next stop would be to go back to the remains of the Everly house. He wanted to see if he could find any clues as to what happened to Dean after the house blew up. _After I left him there._

Sam pulled off the road onto the dirt track that led to the house. There were two cars parked close to what was left of the picket fence one section flattened from where he had landed after the explosion. One car was a white late model Volvo wagon the other a huge black SUV. Two men clad in suits stood beside the silver sedan, conversing. The taller of the 2 held a clipboard in his hands.

As Sam pulled up beside the Volvo the men shook hands and the man with the clipboard got into the wagon. He reversed the car into a turn and headed back down the track.

The rather short rotund man still standing by the SUV watched him curiously as he stepped out of the Impala closed the door and walked towards him.

Sam had never seen this man before but maybe he knew something he didn't?

As he got close enough he smiled. "Have I got the right place there's supposed to be a house for sale here?" He enquired glancing at the remains of the house. "Doesn't look like there's a house here anymore?"

"Well there was a house here until 5 days ago and yes it was for sale, but there was some sort of a gas leak which sparked an explosion and this is the end result." The man indicated the pile of rumble with his head.

"Wow, I hope the owner had it insured?"

His round face lit with a satisfied smile his brown eyes crinkled at the corners. "Actually I'm the owner and yes it was insured," he leaned forward holding out his hand, 'name's Dan Barker."

_Dan Barker the man who called Bobby the man who started this disaster? _Sam clasped his hand. "I'm Sam, a pleasure Mr. Barker."

"Call me Dan," Dan rubbed at the side of his rather bulbous nose with a chubby index finger, "well Sam you saw that fellow who just left?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

He was the insurance assessor slash investigator, he's going to recommend the company pay the claim," he shook his head, "I can't tell you what a relief that is, I was having all kinds of problems with this place."

"Yeah didn't I read something about it in the paper, isn't it supposed to be haunted?"

"Haunted no, just some crazy hippy tenants that went to the paper looking to make a quick buck and get their 15 minutes of fame."

_Liar!_ "Oh right, I see so no ghosts then," Sam said with a smile before continuing, "so Dan what are you going to do now, you still gonna sell the land?"

"Well I'll wait until the insurance company pays up then I'll put the land on the market."

"I've come all the way from South Dakota do you mind if I take a look around. I might be interested in the land." Sam glanced around him for effect.

"I've got to get back to the office, you're welcome to take a look, be my guest," he pulled out a business card from his inside coat pocket and handed it to Sam, "give me a call in a couple of weeks if you're interested."

"Thanks Dan, will do."

With that he turned to the door of the SUV opened it and climbed laboriously into the cab. Sam had to suppress the urge to ask him if he needed a boost.

"A pleasure to meet you Sam." Dan said as he put the truck in reverse and backed away.

Sam watched him go. "Wish I could say the same."

After the truck had turned onto the road and disappeared from view, Sam set to work starting at the picket fence he scoured the front of what remained of the house going a long way to either side way past the farthest point where debris had landed.

Even though he had searched the pile of debris on the spot that had been the house he covered it again hoping that there was more to see in full daylight. With the details of that night seared into his memory Sam could see the insurance assessors had been through the wreckage as most of the things had been moved around and were in different places than that night.

Sam was half way between the house and the creek before he found anything that gave him some hope that Dean had been here.

He was underneath one of the larger trees a large branch lay close by. Sam looked up into the tree he could see the scar on the tree where the branch had broken off. The ground around the fallen branch was disturbed. Sam lifted the branch and moved it to one side. The damp carpet of leaves was disturbed and there was an indent in the ground that had been made when the ground was wet it looked like someone had laid there. A possible scenario began to form in his mind.

_Had Dean been blown from the house into the tree? Had the branch broken under his weight? Had he lay on the wet ground, hurt, shocked, disorientated?_

Sam found more disturbed ground nearby it looked as if who had lain here had kneeled here and moved away with dragging footsteps perhaps too weak to lift his feet any higher. There were two distinct tracks parting the carpet of leaves leading away in the direction of the creek. Sam followed the path of the dragging track marks as they meandered through the trees. It was at the base of one of these trees that Sam found a set of smudged boot prints; he recognized it as the same tread on the boots Dean was wearing that night. The prints were deep and side by side in the drying mud as if Dean had rested here against the tree trying to conserve any strength he had.

Hope flared in his heart when he found a second print moving away from the tree towards the creek. The prints became unclear again returning to the drag marks as if Dean no longer had the strength to lift his feet.

A little further on there was a skid mark a larger patch of disturbed leaves as if Dean's boot had slipped in the slimy carpet of leaves and he had gone down on hands and knees to the damp ground. The smudged hand prints near bye and the dried muddy one he found on the trunk of the nearest tree all but confirming his assumption.

From there on the ground sloped down towards the creek which was now only meters away now. The trickle of moving water reached his ears, growing louder as he followed the indistinct tracks from the tree to the water's edge.

Sam tried to swallow the lump of anxiety that had lodged in his throat threatening to choke him; his heart felt like it had turned to stone in his chest; He looked down into the water sliding by languidly serene and gentle. Rocks large and small on the bottom clearly visible in the clean clear creek appeared to ripple and move as the water moved over them. This very same creek would have been swollen, boiling and fast flowing with the added rain water from upstream and countless hidden dangers below the surface.

Sam knew deep down that Dean hurt; weak and disorientated from the explosion had gone into the swollen creek. He wouldn't have been able to fight the raging current and he would have been carried downstream.

Sam looked out across the water. "Dean," he whispered his voice thin and wavering with emotion. Then he threw his head back and shouted out his misery, "DEAN!" His brother's name echoed back to him over the water, mocking him.

-KITA-

He woke slowly the slightest movement bought with it the awareness that his body was a mass of aches and stiffness; even the rise and fall of his chest with each shallow breath caused discomfort. His head throbbed in time with the beat of his heart.

He lay as still as possible absorbing the sounds and smells around him; trying the pull his memory together. There was nothing.

He could hear the crackle of flames and feel warmth on the side of his face the smell of pine filled the air an underlying aroma of something rich and savory tickled his senses and sent signals to his stomach which growled in sympathy.

Unable to ignore the hunger and thirst gnawing at his belly he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a curtained darkened window across from the couch on which he lay. Keeping movement to a minimum he slid his eyes around the room. The somewhat rustic but homely looking room was lit by the lamp in the corner and the light from a roaring crackling fire to his left. He didn't recognize the room at least he didn't think he did or its occupants. The space in front of the fire was taken up by the biggest dog he had ever seen. The white dog was lying on its back balancing on its spine with all 4 legs in the air. It was soaking up the heat from the roaring fire like a sponge soaks up water and he could have sworn it was smiling.

The other occupant of the room a woman was asleep in the high-backed chair beside the dog.

Pushing the patchwork quilt and the blanket covering him aside he groaned low in his throat as he swung his rubbery legs slowly off the couch and sat up.

A pair of black boxers was the only clothing he wore. His chest was peppered with small cuts and nicks a black tattoo stood out against the freckled skin over his heart; the smell of mustard wafted from a bulky heavy bandage wrapped around his right forearm. Slowly he coaxed his aching protesting body up; he stood swaying waiting for his head and his shifting vision to adjust this new lofty position.

Taking a couple of wobbly steps forward he looked down at the sleeping woman. She was slender but she wasn't young possibly in her sixties it was hard to tell. Her fine boned face was framed by silky looking silver hair that glinted in the light from the lamp behind her. She wore a blue and white check shirt the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her legs clad in brown heavy weight work pants were tucked up underneath her. Her work roughened hands were in her lap one still holding onto the paperback lying open across her thighs.

The huge dog snorted in its sleep and the sound was enough to wake the sleeping woman.

Her eyes opened; the gray irises focused on him widened a little then crinkled at the corners with a smile. She sat up and forward the book slid off her legs onto the floor.

"Damon you're awake, I must have fallen asleep," she said her soft voice holding the remnants of sleep. She rubbed at one eye with the side of her finger, and then looked up at him. "You shouldn't be up; how you feeling? You look better."

His brain was slowly catching up with the quick fire chastising, questioning, inquiring words.

"Okay I guess if you count weak, shaky, aching all over and a headache threatening to blow the top of my head off." _Why did I say all that to this strange woman?_

She unfolded her legs and stood, stooping to pick up the fallen book. She closed it and smoothed the cover before putting it down on the chair she had vacated.

The throbbing in his head increased, everything felt surreal as if it was happening to someone else he was outside his body, a bystander. His jumbled thoughts swirled around in his head his vision joining in with the room was swaying or maybe he was?

Her worried face filled his wobbling vision. "I think it might be an idea if you sit down before you fall down." She said placing her hands on his upper arms and gently maneuvering him back down onto the couch behind him.

He slumped down on the couch closing his eyes against the weird jerking movements of the room and its contents. After a minute when he felt it was safe to open them; she was standing before him a look of concern on her face in one hand she was holding a glass of water and cradled in the other two pills.

"Take these they'll help with the headache and the fever and the drink all the water you're dehydrated which doesn't help matters any."

He took the glass from her and held out his other hand palm up; she tipped the pills into it. He looked at pills suspiciously.

"What are they?"

"Just Advil," she answered, putting her hands on her hips, "so go on take them."

She pulled the quilt over his legs arranging it neatly over his lap and then glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall.

He took a sip, it was good only water but it was good; it coated his dry mouth and slid soothing down his throat. He took another sip and then with the third one he downed the pills then emptied the glass.

"Thank you." He said his voice now more lubricated and not so raspy.

She took the empty glass from him and placed it on the table beside the sofa.

"You're welcome; you really shouldn't have tried to stand so soon, you took a blow to the head. I need to check the poultice, but first things first; I need to take your temperature."

He looked up at her, zeroing in on one word.

"Poultice? You mean this stinky thing on my arm?" He said lifting his bandaged forearm.

She smiled. "I guess it is a bit stinky it's a mustard poultice for drawing out infection."

She reached over to the table and picked up an ear thermometer. "Hold still." She said as she inserted it into his ear.

The cold end of the thermometer invaded his ear so he remained still eyes cast down at his quilt covered legs.

When it beeped she pulled it out and squinted down at the readout. "100.2, not great but much better." She observed as she put the thermometer down and then walked away disappearing from view.

He looked around the now still room trying to gain some sort of feeling for this place but nothing seemed at all familiar to him.

The silver haired lady returned a minute later carrying a large first aid kit and a bowl of water. She put them down on the table beside the couch and opened the kit searching through it until she found what she wanted.

Sitting down beside him she took his arm just above his wrist drawing his bandaged arm towards her and began to unroll the bandage.

He remained quiet looking at her bowed head as she unwrapped the bandage. He searched his memory trying to find some recognition, some familiarity, something a memory of who this woman was.

The last of the bandage fell away revealing a strip of yellow/brown colored muddy looking paste running down the inside of his forearm lying on top of another strip of gauze the smell of mustard was much stronger now.

She took a cotton square from the box and dipped it into the bowl of water then lifted the corner of the gauze and began to work it away from whatever was underneath using the dampened cotton to work the poultice covered gauze away from his skin.

His own eyes were drawn down to his arm.

As the underside of the gauze was rolled back away it was covered in foul smelling slimy looking red streaked yellow pus; his stomach lurched at the sight and the smell. He looked away.

"It stuck a little bit this might hurt."

It wasn't that bad he'd had worse. _How come I know that but nothing else?_

Once the poultice was clear of his skin she folded the slimy, gooey, sickly smelling mess placing it in a plastic bag and putting it aside then she looked down at his arm.

A long jagged tear ran down the inside of his arm. The uneven edges were puffy and inflamed looking and a clear fluid leaked from a couple of places along the length of the tear.

"The poultice worked well; it looks good I don't think it needs another." She said as she turned back to the first aid kit pouring some of the antiseptic into the water she dampened a cotton square in the mixture and then gently patted along the length of the wound, cleaning way any remaining fluid. He drew in a sharp breath when the antiseptic stung one of the more open parts of the wound.

"Sorry."

He didn't answer looking at the top of her bowed silver head as she worked away at the wound.

When she was satisfied she spread some of the cream onto the wound placed gauze on top and rewrapped his arm with clean bandages.

"There you go," she said as she took his hand and placed it gently in his lap, "now Damon do you think you can manage some chicken broth?"

"Actually I am kinda hungry." He answered as his stomach clenched against the emptiness that had been forgotten after his near faint, _wait… I don't faint… do I? I don't know maybe I do?_

She patted his hand picked up the kit and the bowl of water and hurried into the kitchen. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder to avoid another wave of dizziness; she moved in and out of view and he heard the clash of dishes and cupboard doors opening and closing.

The huge dog snorted again and rolled onto its side, stretching its legs out before relaxing again.

"I don't even know your name." He called out.

"I told you before.. Didn't I?"

"Before?" _Before what? Before when? _"Umm… I'm not sure, maybe. My memory is..." _Nonexistent, gone, wiped clean, a blank slate, all of the above? _"Kinda hazy." Was the best he could come up with?

"Amelia, my name's Amelia." She said from the kitchen.

Unable to cope with all the punctuations circling around his throbbing head, he changed the subject.

"Amelia this is the biggest dog I've ever seen, was its father a horse?"

He heard the smile in her voice as she answered. "No not a horse, she's an Irish wolfhound."

"Huh."

"Pearl helped me pull you from the creek." She called out from the kitchen.

"She did? Way to go Pearl." He said to the sleeping dog. "Umm how'd I get into the creek? And how'd I get all scratched and banged up?" He asked looking down at the new, clean bandage on his arm.

"I don't really know, you don't remember?"

"If I knew I wouldn't have asked." He muttered as he scratched at his face the skin on the left side was tender and itchy like it had been burnt. He had a good three or four day growth.

He looked down at his naked cut and bruised chest. Suddenly embarrassed sitting on Amelia's couch wearing only a pair of grubby boxer shorts. He pulled the quilt from over his legs to around his shoulders covering most of his exposed flesh, clutching the ends together in front of himself.

Amelia came back into the room carrying a wooden tray she set it on his lap. There was a large white bowl full with steaming broth a small plate with a huge slice of bread and a soup spoon. The rich aroma rising from the broth made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.

"Will you be able to manage?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah I'm good." He answered. The phrase seemed familiar as if he said it a lot.

Amelia brushed silver strands of hair away from her face and moved away.

While keeping the quilt held tightly together in front of him he maneuvered his right hand out from under the quilt and picked up the spoon dipping it into the broth. It was full of chunks of vegetables and large pieces of tender chicken. His hand shook a little as he raised the brimming spoon to his mouth. When the rich broth hit his taste buds it was like nectar. The second mouthful tasted even better than the first. He finished the broth quickly mopping up the dregs and wiping the bowl clean with the bread.

"Had enough?" Amelia asked as she took the tray from him.

"Yes that was good thank you." He said leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh.

"There's more if you want?"

"Maybe later, I'm kinda full."

She took the tray and from him and moved back to the kitchen.

"So Amelia what happened to my clothes?"

"I managed to salvage your blue jeans, socks and boots; everything else I'm afraid was beyond ruined."

"Ruined how?"

"Torn, burned, ruined."

"So I was in a fire." He said more to himself than Amelia.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he wanted to know something else, something that she had said before a couple of times now, "Why do you keep calling me Damon?"

"Sorry I know it's not your name but I had to call you something until you could wake up long enough to tell me your real name." Amelia said as she came back into the room picking up the book from the chair she sat down placing the book on the small table beside her. She had a look of enquiry on her heart shaped face. _She's waiting for me to tell her my name, this is gonna' be interesting_.

"Amelia…" he gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know my name; I don't know how I got burned, banged up or how I got in the creek. I can't remember a damned thing before I woke up just now." He looked over at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Her soft gray eyes were full of sympathy and understanding.

"Oh I see. It is most likely the blow to the head and the high fever you've been running off and on since I pulled you from the creek at one stage it was up around 105. Sometimes a fever that severe can cause temporary loss of memory or it could be a combination of what ever happened to you before you went in the creek, the blow to the head and the high fever."

"So how long before it comes back do you think?"

"I don't really know I'm not a doctor or anything like that but it might take a day it might take a month."

"That's just peachy, what the hell am I supposed to do in the mean time?"

"Well worrying about it isn't going to bring it back any faster, I'm sure it won't take long."

"Guess you're right, so Damon huh what made you pick that name?"

"You reminded me of Damon."

"Is Damon a friend or a relative of yours?"

"No Damon is… well he's…" Amelia paused shot a glance at him before she continued, "you'll think it's silly."

"Go on tell me."

She shook her head. "You'll laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." He said as he crossed a finger over the front of the quilt, trying for a look of sincerity.

She studied him for a moment then said. "Alright then."

Amelia took the book from the table beside her glancing at the cover before leaned forward and passed it across to him.

"What's this?" He asked as he took the book from her.

"Look at the cover."

He did as she asked.

Deidre Jones was scrawled boldly across the top in a curly ye olde English type font; below that a man and woman were entwined in each other's arms; the man was clad only in snug fitting cream colored pants tucked into black knee high boots a wide black belt circled his waist; chest darkly tanned rippling with bulging muscle his light brown hair overlong falling in waves to his muscular shoulders. He had one large hand on the slender arm of the woman; his green eyes lowered to her shoulder where one of the puffy sleeves of her primrose colored gown was pulled down revealing a hint of the creamy flesh of a small breast. She was pressed back against him a mass of chestnut hair piled up at the back of her head long wisps falling loose around the alabaster skin of her face. Her eyes were closed her small rosebud mouth partially open; one of her tiny hands was pressed back into his muscular thigh the other covered his hand on her thigh where her gown was hiked up over her knee. At their feet in the same font as the authors name was the title; Her Knight in Shining Armor. The foreground on the left was taken up with the gray/green leaves of a vine heavy with flowers the same yellow as the girls dress. The background was verdant undulating hills with a large regency style house perched atop the furthest hill.

_You've got to be kiddin me a bodice ripper?_

He looked up at Amelia her eyes were lowered and she fiddled with the rolled up sleeve of her shirt.

Turning the book over he read the synopsis.

_At eighteen Lady Eleanor Laverton was born to a life of privilege and wealth. She has never wanted for anything or known a moment of hardship and hunger. _

_Damon Knight grew up an orphan on the streets of London. The former child thief and street urchin has risen above his poor beginnings and at 28 he had become a man of means and the talk of Regency London._

_Eleanor and Damon were born of different worlds._

_Their worlds are destined to collide head on when Eleanor is waylaid by highwaymen and Damon comes to her rescue._

_Eleanor is fascinated by the tall, mysterious Damon the man she now thinks of as her knight in shining armor. Damon whose long lashed sparkling green eyes hold much sadness and many secrets. Eleanor knew she had seen those eyes before, but where, when? Intrigued Eleanor sets uncover the secrets Damon is trying to keep hidden from her and all of London._

_Damon is determined that the, fearless, meddling doe-eyed chestnut-haired beauty will never uncover his past and ruin any chance he has of being accepted into the hoi polio of Regency London society._

_As Eleanor uncovers the truth about Damon's past she finds it hard to reconcile the enigmatic Damon with the filthy, hungry, green-eyed street urchin she met by chance many years before. _

He cleared his throat, glancing at her through his lashes. "Umm I don't know what to say."

"I shouldn't have shown you I told you you'd think it was silly."

"No it's not silly, it's… " He trailed off unsure what to say.

"You look just like him, so I called you Damon."

Amelia shot him another quick glance before going back to the perusal of her sleeve.

"I look like him, Damon Knight? He stabbed a finger into the cover of the paperback, pocking Damon in his muscular chest, "I'll have to take your word for it, seeing as I can't remember what I look like."

"When you see your reflection you'll see the resemblance."

He smiled. "Alright then so until I get my memory back, Damon it is."

Amelia looked up from her very interesting shirt sleeve seeing the smile on his handsome face. It was infectious and her own lips lifted in reply.

_**To be continued…**_

So there's the twist Dean has no memory of what happened to him or who he is.

Some of you may have seen that coming. The clues were there in chapter 5.

Sam is on the trail of his brother. Will he find him soon and if he does will Dean even recognize him? Or will Sam be the catalyst that returns his brother's memory?

Thanks for reading please review.

_Silvertayl 57_


	7. Chapter 7

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

I can't apologize enough for how long this chapter has been in coming. I have a lot going on with one thing and another.

This chapter was going to be a lot longer but I decided to break it into 2 chapters. The good thing about that is that chapter 8 is already half written.

I have a web site now and I am in the process of putting that together. I am going through my stories one by one and adding art to them for the web site, but it is taking longer than I had hoped with everything else going on.

As I did last year I have also made some beautiful calendars 4 in total and they are now available for purchase on eBay. There are 4 different calendars:

~Men of Supernatural

~Supernatural Season 5

~Jensen

~Jared

To find them on eBay follow these steps:

On the eBay home page Click on _advanced search_ (to the right of the search button)

In the box on the left click on- _By seller_

In the- _Enter seller's user ID _Type- _footyseaeagle _(all lower case)

Check- _Show close and exact user ID matches_

Click- _Search_

Enter the verification code in the box and click- _Search_

On the new page click on-_ seller's items_ (at the right of page)

And if you want to check out my web site the address is: .com

Keep in mind it is a WIP and will get better over the next little while.

So after all that here's what you have hopefully been waiting for; chapter 7, enjoy.

**Chapter 7: Amelia's Story **

The hours that had passed since he had woken on Amelia's couch had been confusing and frustrating to say the least as he tried to come to terms with the loss of his memory.

He clutched at anything that seemed remotely familiar trying to remember how and why these few and far between things seemed familiar. But unfortunately those things tickled the edge of his memory but didn't penetrate far enough to unlock the trapped, hidden, memories.

The first night with Amelia's help he stumbled and bumbled his way up the stairs. There was a small landing half way up and then the stairs branched off to the right. At the top a hallway ran the length of the house split at one end by the stairs; a small balustrade enclosed the descending stairway.

With their feet at last planted on wood of the hallway; he leaned against the balustrade for a few moments. There were 2 doors on his left and 2 doors on the right. Amelia steered him to the right. In fits and starts they made their way to an open doorway furthest away and then into the room beyond.

The short journey up the stairs had exhausted the little strength the soup he had consumed earlier had provided.

Amelia flicked on the light before propping him up against the wall immediately inside the door. She rushed over to the neatly made large single bed and pulled the covers back.

"This is… was Nick's room." She corrected herself as she came back to him.

Damon noted the correction but was too exhausted to ask who Nick was and what had happened to him. He was having enough trouble coping with the exhaustion and the whole no memory thing and all he wanted to do was to lie down on the bed that looked so inviting. Amelia took his arm and helped him the short distance to the bed.

He fell half across and half into it, his legs hanging off the side miraculously his head hit the soft downy pillow.

He sighed in relief to be off his rubbery legs and uncooperative leaden feet. He didn't realize he had closed his eyes but he felt his legs being maneuvered from the floor onto the mattress before a moment later the covers settled over him surrounding him with instant warmth and comfort. Damon was asleep before Amelia turned off the light.

Dreams of a tall shaggy hairy figure whose features were always fuzzy and unclear and was always out of reach followed him to wakefulness. He tried desperately to get a look at the stranger before he faded away into nothing and he opened his eyes.

He felt pretty good stiff and a bit sore in various places but on the whole good. Propping himself up on his elbows the he surveyed the room. It was bathed in natural light that snuck in from behind the heavy dark blue drapes pulled over the two windows one to his left and one opposite the bed. The color scheme was decidedly masculine and rustic the chest of draws and the closet on either side of the closed doorway into the hall were made of some kind of heavy dark wood. A hinged window box underneath the window to his left the chair beside the bed on the same side and the bedside table to the left of the bed were all made of the same wood.

Throwing back the covers he got stiffly to his feet and stretched out his joints before he threw open the drapes. The shadow of the house fell across the colorful bright orange fall foliage of the tall willowy sugar maple trees. Spotted in amongst the maples were sturdy Oaks. A well travelled, unpaved driveway with a short strip of grass down the middle came from out of sight around the side of the house disappearing into the dense trees. The other window looked out onto more of the same trees. They swept away as far as the eye could see.

Turning away from the window Damon's eyes fell to the bedside table. There was a pile of neatly folded clothes with note on top anchored down with a pair of balled up chocolate black socks. A pair of tan colored boots stood to attention on the floor at the base of the table.

Damon pulled the note out from under the socks and peered at the neat handwriting.

_Damon,_

_Here are some of Nick's clothes for you to wear, I think they should fit?_

_You'll find fresh towels in the bathroom across the hall last door on the right._

_Amelia._

Throwing the note on the rumpled bed he picked up the clothes and the boots pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway. There was a closed doorway opposite; the space between broken by the balustrades guarding the stairs. And further down the hallway another door on either side. He made his way to the one Amelia had said in her note was the bathroom turned the knob on the paneled door and pushed it open. The bathroom was fairly large; tiled in pastel green and pink. A deep antique looking claw-footed tub jutted out into the room at right angle to the wall to his left; a showerhead protruded from the wall where the tub met the wall. Attached to the wall and supported from the ceiling above the tub was a circular metal shower rod circling the tub a plastic shower curtain with seashells on it hung from the rod by metal rings was pulled back and bunched up at one end. The pastel pink toilet with a wooden seat and lid was beside the tub. The rays of the sun peeped in through the 2 frosted windows opposite the door; in between the windows was a vanity with pastel pink basin to match the tiles and the toilet with a large warped mirror above it a shaving kit was placed to one side. A large linen cupboard and a clothes hamper took up the space on the right side of the room. A towel rail was inside the door to his left, two mint green towels hung over the rail.

He crossed to the vanity letting the boots fall to the floor he placed the clothes on the top next to a tooth brush, a tube of toothpaste and what on closer examination turned out to be a shaving kit. He gazed intently at the face that looked back at him; it was the face of a stranger. Short light brown hair framed a high forehead, high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered in dark stubble so long it was almost but not quite long enough to be a beard; his full lips were cracked and dry. Rolling back his lips and gritting his teeth he was pleased to see they were even straight and white. Too pale cheeks and an ever so slightly off center nose were dotted with a smattering of freckles. The left side was marked with reddened burnt skin a deep gash ran down the right side below his hairline. Bruised looking skin circled green eyes framed with thick dark lashes; fine laughter lines crinkled the corners.

He thought back to last night when Amelia had handed him the book the bodice ripper and had to admit that he did look like the guy on the cover, Damon Knight.

His neck and chest were also covered in small burns nicks and cuts. The bandage wrapping around his right forearm looked stark against his lightly tanned skin.

But it was the scar marring his left arm below his shoulder that drew his attention. It was raised, red and inflamed looking and the shape was unmistakable a hand print a human hand print had been branded into his skin.

Damon ran his fingers over the raised smooth, shiny flesh. It didn't cause him any discomfort or pain which led him to believe it was not new and had been with him for awhile. Another mystery to go into the suitcase sized mystery file that was his life.

With a sigh he turned away from the mirror and divested himself of his grubby somewhat on the nose boxers and threw them into the corner.

Taking one of the towels off the rail he crossed to the shower and placed the towel on the floor beside the tub, leaning over the tub he turned on the water and then unwound the bandage around his forearm and hurled them at the small trash can on the floor in between the toilet and the vanity.

The long wound on the inside of his arm looked slightly inflamed and raw at the center but the edges appeared to be lying together and the healing had begun. _That smelly poultice must have done something._

Testing the water under his hand he climbed stiffly into the tub pulling the plastic curtain around him. On the side of the tub was a clean folded face washer a pump container of cream colored shower gel and container of shampoo and conditioner.

He stepped under the strong flow from the showerhead the warmth from the water felt good as it soaked his hair and ran down his aching battered body, the water stung as it entered the cuts on his head, chest and the wound on his arm.

The hot flood of water beat against his skin relaxing the stiff sore muscles of his neck, shoulders and back. After a minute he shampooed and conditioned his hair that done he wet the washer pumped the shower gel onto it and soaped his body washing away the grime, sweat and sickness that covered his muscular fit looking body.

Feeling clean and refreshed he was moving more freely when he toweled off patting dry the cuts on his chest and arm. With the towel wrapped around his waist he made use of the toothbrush and shaving kit and then dressed in the clothes Amelia had provided; although a couple of centimeters short and a little baggy around the waist the jeans fit reasonably well and the flannel shirt was a little tight across the shoulders and around the biceps. _So this Nick was or is stockier, chunkier but not as broad as me?_

Damon ran his hands through his short still damp hair then sat on the closed toilet to pull on the socks and boots both of which fit perfectly.

Placing the damp towel across the rail he put the shaving kit back in the bag and zipped it up then holding them between two fingers he opened the clothes hamper and threw the filthy boxers inside.

Moving freely he came down the stairs into the living room. Amelia had tidied up the couch that he had woken up on showed no sign that he had been there the patchwork quilt was folded neatly across the arm.

In the fireplace there was a new fire laid ready for lighting on the mantel directly above it were several framed photos, curious he crossed the room to get a closer look.

The first photo had been taken under a large oak tree was a tall young man dressed in a dress army uniform his dark hair cut short in typical military style. Standing beside him leaning in close one small wrapped around his right arm was Amelia; a younger Amelia. Wearing a 2 piece long sleeved tailored knee length pale mauve suit, high heels a small darker mauve handbag over her arm; her hair topped with a small matching dark mauve hat was shorter, loose curled away from her face and without as much gray. She was smiling; a look of great pride shining from her soft gray eyes.

The middle photo was a head and shoulders portrait of a young family. A similar smile as on the young military man beamed out at the camera his hair slicked back away from his forehead. His arm was around the shoulders of the slender woman standing at his side her brown hair teased up into a beehive reminiscent of the 1960's. Her eyes were averted to the swaddled, sleeping baby in her arms a smile of love and happiness curved her painted red lips. His proud smile and gray eyes reminded Damon of Amelia's smile in the first photo.

The end photo was a grainy black and white of a young boy of around 9 or 10 and a younger girl probably around 6 or 7. The boy grinning widely from under the long bangs of a short back and sides was wearing a buttoned up shirt tucked into old fashioned knee length pants held up with braces, long socks that came up to the knees protruded from buttoned up ankle boots. The younger girl was standing beside and slightly in front of the boy a mass of fair curls held in place by a wide ribbon tied in a bow at a jaunty angle framing the shy smile on her young delicate face, her dress had puffy sleeves, a matching bow to the one in her hair at her waist the dress puffed out below the waist with layered flounces down to the calf length hem. Her small feet were encased in what looked like satin ballet slippers.

"That's me and my brother, Teddy when we were young." Amelia's quiet voice said from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder in direction of the voice. Amelia was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen she was dressed in similar clothes to last night. Her face was in shadow and he couldn't see her expression.

Damon turned back to the photo. "There's a strong resemblance."

He felt her come up behind him.

"Yes everybody used to say we were. Teddy hated it used to say he didn't look like a girl," Amelia gave a huff of laughter; "he hated me calling him Teddy."

Damon pointed at the middle photo. "Is that him as well?"

"Uhuh. Teddy, Marjorie and Nick, he was only 5 weeks old when that was taken."

"So Nick is your nephew?" He plucked at his shirt. "These are his clothes?"

Amelia perused his outfit. "They fit, I thought they would." Her gray eyes fell on his arm where he rolled up the sleeves of the shirt. "Your arm looks better I should dress it again to keep it clean."

"It's fine. Damon said distractedly. "Nick he was in the army? "He asked inclining his head at the remaining photo.

Amelia picked up the framed photo and smiled. "This was taken in 1987 when Nick graduated from the military academy."

"He's a fine looking young man, is he serving overseas?"

"No, he's…" Amelia placed the photo back on the mantel and looked up at him; tense sad expressions on her face the glint of tears in her soft gray eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her arm. "It's just that I don't know anything much about myself and I am curious to know about you, the woman who saved my life or if you like you can say I'm a bit of a Nosy Parker."

She looked back at the photo then back at Damon. The beginnings of a smile curving her lips "Alright Mr. Nosy Parker I'll make you some lunch and I'll tell you everything; you must be hungry?"

"Lunch what time is it?"

"After 12."

"Where does the day go?"

Amelia put the photo back on the mantel and when she turned back to him she was smiling a full on smile not the tentative lift of her lips, and Damon was glad to see the sadness leave her face.

"Come on I'll make us some sandwiches."

- KITA -

Amelia watched with amusement as Damon put down the mug of coffee he had been sipping at and lifted up the top slice of bread examining the contents of the sandwich she had put down on a plate in front of him.

Pearl had come and sat staring up at Damon or rather Damon's sandwich, licking her chops in anticipation of getting a tidbit or two.

Her eyes still on Damon she slid onto the kitchen chair opposite him and placed a plate with her own sandwich down on the table.

Seeing the strange look on his face as he examined the contents of his lunch she smiled.

"Something wrong with your sandwich, Damon?"

With the top slice of bread still held in his hand he looked up a puzzled frown on his handsome face.

"There's lettuce and tomato in here and other green stuff." He stated the obvious.

"Well yes it's a cheese and salad sandwich; don't tell me you don't like cheese?"

"No I love cheese but I don't usually eat lettuce and tomato I mean vegetables unless they're on a cheese burger with bacon and extra onions."

"Well actually tomato is a fruit not a veg-" She broke off suddenly a look of delight on her face.

"What?" He asked a quizzical look still on his face.

"You remembered, remembered that you like bacon cheese burgers and you don't like vegetables."

His puzzled look gave way to one of pleased understanding. "Hey yeah I did."

"What else do you remember?"

He plunked the slice of bread back on top of the sandwich put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"Nothing consciously but I had this recurring dream about a man he was in shadow and I couldn't see his face. I wanted to see his face so badly but he was always out of reach one step ahead of me. I tried to get to him because I knew it was important…he was important, like he has the answers to whom I am," he paused then shook his head, "I don't know it sounds kinda lame." His green eyes lowered to the table.

Amelia pushed her plate to one side and leaned forward unconsciously mimicking him.

"No it doesn't, it's a step in the right direction, and you're starting to remember things like the burgers the vegetables this man in your dreams, its good Damon really good. Every day you'll remember more and then all the pieces will fit together I'm sure of it."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely."

"I hope you're right."

"Now eat your sandwich and I want you to eat all the salad, and the tomato, I've got some apple peach pie but you have to eat all your salad first."

He looked up then his eyes alight with pleasure. "Really apple peach pie, I love pie."

Amelia grinned back at him. "There you go there's one more thing you remembered, that you love pie."

"Amelia you're awesome."

- KITA -

Damon was half way through his second piece of Amelia's excellent pie.

He he'd been tossing up how to bring the conversation back to her. So he was surprised when it was Amelia who said.

"My father was in the Air Force he was shot down in WW2; my mother thankfully was a strong woman. As long as I could remember she worked to support us. Ted was 3 nearly 4 years older than me so a lot of responsibility for me fell on his young shoulders. He was my big brother I looked up to him we were very close. Sometimes I'd call him Teddy, he would roll his eyes and say _Am, its Ted or Theodore, Teddy is a bear._ But you know I think he kind of liked it when I called him Teddy. He was my guardian and protector, teacher, my confidant, my best friend; he used to say it was his job to look out for his little sister."

Damon looked up from his plate to Amelia he nodded because for some reason this scenario was familiar. _Maybe I am a big brother?_

"Mother died when I was 14. Ted was already working and going to night classes. Mama had insisted that Ted get a good education. About 2 years after Mama died I introduced him to a school friend of mine. Marjorie and Ted it was funny at first they couldn't stand each other. They were married in 64. By then Ted was running his own successful advertising business he bought me this house and made sure I was financially secure. He said although he was married it was still his job to look after his little sis."

Amelia gave a quick smile her eyes filled with the memories then she continued.

"Marjorie had 2 miscarriages before she carried to full term and Nick was born in 68. It turned out she couldn't have any more children so Nick was their only child. He was a sweet lovely boy he was so much like Ted. In 76 they were on their way here to visit when their car was involved in an accident," Amelia drew in a deep breath and then continued, "Teddy and Marjorie were killed but Nick escaped without a scratch."

Light in room dimmed and he was transported to another place another time. There was the hum of a powerful engine the murmur of men's voices. Without warning his body was jolted sideways and the darkness was filled with an earsplitting crunch and grind of metal on metal. Then he was somewhere else looking on as a huge semitrailer impacted with a big black car the 3 occupants thrown violently to the side. The semi continued its forward motion pushing the black car forcing it sideways off the road into the brush.

Amelia's worried voice brought him back from screech and grind of the vision or memory or whatever the hell it was.

She was calling his as yet still unfamiliar name.

"Damon, Damon, what is it?"

"Nothing I…"

"Were you remembering something?"

"Not sure… maybe. Were Ted and Marjorie blindsided by a big truck a semitrailer, by any chance?"

"No a tire blew out they hit a tree, head on. Are you alright?"

He saw the concern in her face her reminiscing momentarily forgotten.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Yeah I'm good. What happened after the accident?"

Amelia looked unsure but continued.

"Being his only living relative Nick came to live with me. He was only 8 and he missed his parents, heck so did I. It was hard at first not just for him but for me as well. Anyway we made it through. When Nick was 19 he and his friend enlisted in the army. After he graduated he came home as often as possible helped me maintain the place I'm afraid I've let it go to rack and ruin since."

"Was he a good soldier?"

Amelia nodded.

"He was. It was good for him he needed the male companionship that the army offered I mean he had spent over 10 years living with his old spinster aunt."

"Then in 92 he was shipped off to fight in the Desert Storm conflict. He was killed in a skirmish 2 weeks later."

Damon looked at his half eaten pie his appetite forgotten; pushing the plate to one side he reached across the table hand laid his hand on top of Amelia's giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Amelia I'm so sorry."

She lifted her sad tear filled gaze from the table to meet his concerned face.

"I knew even before that man in a military uniform came to the door and handed me that letter, I felt it in here."Se tapped her fingertips against the spot over her heart

As if sensing her mistress' distress Pearl abandoned her spot beside Damon she flopped down next to Amelia and rested her big muzzle on Amelia's lap.

Unconsciously Amelia stroked the top of her white head. "It was a long time ago 18 years this coming February," she paused then added, "I vowed to myself on that day that I would never bow my head in prayer again, and I kept that vow until-" Her voice broke on the last word.

"Until?" He asked.

"The night you came to me when you lay on my couch on the verge of death with a fever over 104."

"I'm sorry I made you break your vow."

"Don't be sorry I'm not. Maybe the prayer helped maybe it didn't. But Damon you're alive and that is the most important thing."

_**To be continued…**_

This chapter is really to tell Amelia's back story; with a little Dean/Damon thrown in; so no Sam in this chapter but never fear he will return in chapter 8.

Thanks for reading, please review.

I promise chapter 8 won't be so long in coming.

_Silvertayl 57_


	8. Chapter 8

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

Thanks to those who reviewed chapter 7 and to all the new readers who have put KITA on alert. I would love it if you dropped me a line. Will the brothers be reunited in this chapter and if so will Dean know who Sam is?

Read on for answers.

**Chapter 8: Searching and Sighting**

Damon woke early the next morning as the dawn was breaking. His sleep had been less than restive; the night had been filled with the tall shaggy haired man. No matter how fast he ran he could not catch up he shouted at the stranger's broad back almost begging him to stop but the stranger was always out of an arm's length away. The man was the key. If he could only get a glimpse of the man's face he knew it would unlock his memories.

Frustrated that the night hadn't revealed more about him or the stranger he untangled himself from the bedcovers twisted around his limbs from his tossing pushing them aside. He threw back the drapes letting in the first light of morning then gathering some clean clothes from Nick's that Amelia had provided he padded on bare feet to the bathroom showered and shaved.

In the mirror the green eyes of the stranger stared back. They seemed to taunting him to try and penetrate to the memories beyond.

Now fully dressed as he descended the stairs he tried to squash the nagging feeling that maybe Amelia was wrong and he would never get his memory back. Perhaps they were gone for good and his life began 3 days ago.

The kitchen was empty there was no sign of Amelia or the horse sized dog. Crossing to the window he pushed back the lace curtain and peered out into the yard. The sun had lifted higher and the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees glinting off the faded duco of the old dark red ford pickup parked in front of a huge barn.

He found himself drawn to the old vehicle it seemed to call to him. Opening the back door he stepped out onto the porch. It was the first time he actually ventured from the confines of the house. To his right were a couple of worn wicker chairs and a matching table. As if they had a mind of their own his legs carried him down the steps and across the yard to the sad looking vehicle.

A sleek black cat lay stretched out on the hood basking in a growing patch of sunlight. The cat opened its eyes watching his approach with a cool curious gaze.

"Hey there puss." Damon said as he stopped beside the car.

The cat stood stretching out it long sleek body it's green eyes pinned on him as it moved closer.

Damon leaned his hip against the front side panel reaching out a hand towards the elegant feline.

To his surprise the cat rubbed it head against his hand making a noise in its throat. "Prrrrr."

Encouraged by the cat's obvious delight he stroked its gleaming silky back. The cat's internal motor switched on and it began to purr before it suddenly jumped off the hood and padded away.

"Was it something I said?"

The cat gave a dismissive flick of its long tail before it disappeared into the barn.

The door of the neglected Ford opened with creak of old hinges. He slid onto the cracked worn seat. Typical of country folk the keys dangled from the ignition. Damon turned the key. The old engine kicked over on the third try coughing and spluttering to life; reaching under the dash he released the hood catch before getting out and propping the hood open. He stared down at the vibrating engine. He heard the sputter, rattle and miss fire. The car needed tuning and from the look of the gray oily smoke sputtering from the exhaust immediate and urgent oil change.

With a smile of eager anticipation he switched off the motor and followed the cat into the barn.

- KITA -

Blossom moved smoothly beneath her as Amelia made her way back to the house from her early morning ride. Pearl bounded happily ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff at various things.

Clearing the trees she pulled Blossom up in front of the barn. Amelia was surprised to see one of the doors wide open.

Dismounting she was about to lead Blossom into the barn when she heard a low pitched humming of what she thought was _Smoke on the Water _coming from the pickup.

A pair of jeans clad slightly bowed legs protruded from under the car. A crumpled shirt lay in a heap close by.

Smiling to herself she left Blossom to graze on the short grass nearby and quietly made her way over to the car. The humming grew louder as she got closer.

Amelia stopped next to the booted feet.

"Damon what are you doing?"

The humming stopped and the legs grew longer revealing the rest of him as he shimmied his way out from under the car.

When finally Damon's grease stained tee shirt stretched over his muscular chest and eventually his shoulders and head appeared he looked up at her and smiled.

"I'm changing the oil in the pickup." He answered.

In his hand he had a shallow basin filled with brown, evil looking sludge.

There was a smudge of the brown sludge on one cheek, another one down the left side of his forehead, with the healing gash on the right side he looked like he had a set of single inverted commas framing his handsome face.

"Why?"

"Why? Because it needed it." Pushing the basin to one side and still lying on the ground he wiped his hands on the oily rag he pulled from his waistband. "How long is it since you had her serviced?"

Amelia tapped her index finger against her lip.

"Don't remember, awhile I guess."

"No wonder she's running hot."

"I don't use it much. Just for the odd trip into Ada."

Getting to his feet Damon moved around to the propped open hood of the pickup stuffing the rag back into the top of his jeans he picked up one of socket wrenches from the line of tools balancing on another oily rag on the edge of the front panel.

With the wrench in hand he leaned over into engine.

"You shouldn't neglect her; if you are good to her she'll be good to you."

Amelia moved up beside him and peered into the engine. She had no idea what she was looking at. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Funnily enough I do," he turned his head to look at her, "maybe I'm a mechanic?" He added with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Oh I think you're much more than a mechanic," she looked at him earnestly, "but you didn't have to do this," she indicated to the car then looked him up and down, "Look at you, you're all dirty, I hope you didn't get any of that dirt or grease in that wound." Amelia indicated the lack of bandage on the healing gash on his arm.

Straightening up he turned his hands over and looked down at his grease stained arms and clothes.

"It'll wash off, and besides it's the least I can do for the woman who saved my life." He gave her a grin his green eyes alight with mischief.

Unable to resist Amelia returned his silly grin.

"Where did you get the tools and stuff?"

"I found a tool box tucked away in the corner of the barn and an unopened container of oil; the cat showed me where they were."

"You mean Obsi."

"Obsi? You call the cat Obsi. Is that some kind of Oklahoma swear word or did you just make that up? It sounds made up."

Amelia gave a chuckle.

"No silly Obsi is short for Obsidian."

"Obsidian. It comes from lava; a black glass like rock." Damon said surprising himself with his knowledge.

"That's right. Well Obsi was most likely hunting for mice, even though he gets all the food he wants from me it's his feline nature to hunt."

Damon grinned again. "Yeah you're probably right, he was most likely hunting."

Amelia had smiled more in the last 2 days than she had in years.

"Well I'm going to rub Blossom down and then I'm going to make us some breakfast and re-bandage your arm. But you make sure you wash up before you come inside."

"Yes mom." Damon answered as he once more leaned over the engine.

- KITA -

The next morning when Amelia came back from her ride, she found Damon washing the old pickup. He was rubbing at the duco with a sponge which he dipped frequently into a metal bucket of sudsy water beside him. The garden hose was unraveled and lying nearby.

"I thought I might go into Ada later to get supplies, I'm running low on a lot of things. Feel like taking her for a spin and playing chauffer to an old lady?"

"Absolutely."

Sometime later the old pickup sped along the blacktop with barely a hint of the oily black exhaust or coughing miss fires of yesterday.

"Listen to her purr." Damon said. A strange feeling overcame him. _Whoa it's like déjà vu, I'm sure I've said that before._

Amelia saw his forehead crease before he added.

"That's weird I think I've said that before."

"It might be another memory."

"Yeah could be."

"I've been thinking, while we're in Ada I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, he might be able to help you."

Damon shot a quick glance at Amelia across the interior of the cab before looking back to the road ahead.

"Help me how, is he a shrink or something that can put me into a trance and unlock my memories?"

"No he's not a shrink as you say. He runs the only bar in a small town and it seems people talk to bartenders or so he tells me; the sheriff's officers the local police they all drop in a couple of times a week after work, apparently they tell him all sorts of things; Maurice he knows everything that goes on in and around Ada. If they're looking for you or there's someone looking for you he should know."

"Maurice… seriously."

"Maurice."

"You really think Maurice can help?"

"Well it's worth a shot, don't you think?"

"Alright then Maurice the bartender it is."

- KITA -

Ada was a surprise it was a bustling town with every kind of service or shop a person could ever need.

The main street consisted of a large diner, baker, hair stylist, hardware store, supermarket, second hand book store, doctor's office, newsagent, gas station, post office, dress and shoe shop and many other specialty stores.

Damon found a park almost out front of the supermarket. He followed Amelia around the surprisingly large and well stocked store pushing the shopping cart as she traversed the aisles of the store.

Amelia stopped every now and then chatting with an acquaintance or 2 that she obviously hadn't seen for some time, introducing Damon as a friend from outer state.

With that job done and visit to the hardware store Damon loaded the supplies into the bed of the truck.

Amelia and Damon walked the short distance to the bar.

'Maurie Mack's Tavern' was emblazoned above the large glass paneled door. Unlit neon signs advertising El Sol, Budweiser and Heineken adorned the darkened windows on either side of the door. A closed sign hung from the inside doorknob of the front door.

Damon turned the handle on the glass paneled door and finding it unlocked pushed the door open then stood back back to allow Amelia to enter first.

As the door closed with a click behind him Damon stood still for a moment letting his eyes adjust to the darkened bar after the brightness of the afternoon sunshine. The only light came from the halogen lights above the actual bar itself.

Amelia moved through the room heading towards the back.

"Maurice?" Amelia called out to the empty room.

"That you Amelia?" A deep rich voice floated out from somewhere near the rear of the room. Then without waiting for an answer the voice continued. "Be out in a minute."

"Wait here I'll go and get him."

The tavern was as wide as it was deep. To the right facing out onto the intersecting street were more windows, broken in the middle by closed bi-fold doors leading to a small beer garden. The bar stretched almost the whole way across the back of the room. Amelia walked up to the bar and through the waist high swinging double doors at one end then disappeared through another swinging door behind the bar. The door swung too quietly behind her.

Damon surveyed the bar with interest.

12 or so round polished wooden tables scattered with coasters chairs matching the tables pulled up to each filled most of the room. On the left up 3 shallow steps on a raised platform surrounded by a waist high carved wooden railing was a well used dart board and next to that a pool. The low hanging light above the green felt of the table top was switched off. A row of cue sticks slotted neatly into brackets on the wall behind.

Next to the raised area were 2 doors, marked men's and ladies respectively.

Damon sauntered slowly towards the bar. The murmur of Amelia's and deep male voice he had heard before floated out from the bar.

Reaching the bar he slid onto a bar stool, drumming his fingers against the clean shiny top.

Neatly stacked glasses below glass mirror-backed shelves packed with bottles of liquor sent his distorted reflection back to him.

3 beer taps and a soda tap were slightly to his left.

The murmur of voices was loader now. The door behind the bar swung open and Damon heard the tail end of their conversation.

"It's been 2 weeks." Amelia said as she emerged.

"Maybe DeClerque has given up?" Answered the biggest man Damon thought he'd ever seen.

"I doubt that very much."

The African American giant filled the doorway for a moment, at least 6'6 the width of his shoulders almost brushing the jam on either side before he moved forward the door swinging shut behind him.

He appeared to be around or maybe slightly older than Amelia. A fit healthy looking body. It was obvious that this man didn't partake in too much of the product he peddled to the masses. His short wiry afro was peppered with gray at the temples and his kind smooth face had laughter lines crinkling the corner of his dark eyes.

Amelia came around the bar and slid up onto the stool beside Damon.

Damon watched with interest the way the giant's dark eyes followed Amelia's movements a smile of fondness and something else lighting the rich darkness of his face. Then his eyes slid over to Damon and he smiled.

"Maurice this is Damon." Amelia said.

The big man reached out his hand across the bar. Damon's hand disappeared into Maurice's meaty firm grip. His eyes slid over Damon briefly taking in the healing cut on his head and the bandage partly visible below the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

"Please call me Maurie. Amelia here is the only person that gets away with calling me Maurice. It's nice to meet you; I can see you've been through a bit of a rough time. Amelia tells me you need my help."

"Don't mean to be a party pooper but I don't really know if you can help me." Damon answered before rubbing the tips of his fingers across his forehead.

Maurie placed his palms on the bar and leaned forward. "Damon I'm a hive of knowledge."

"I'm sure you are, but..."

Sensing he had touched on a sore spot Maurie changed the subject. "Beer Damon?" He asked straightening up pointing a long finger in Damon's direction.

"Sounds good.

"You have a preference?"

"Whatever you've got on tap."

"Okay. Amelia the usual?"

"Thanks Maurice."

As Maurie pulled the beers and a beer laced with half lemonade for Amelia Damon took up the conversation.

"Amelia and you known each other a long time?"

"Oh yeah a long time getting on for 40 years. My son Aaron and Nick they grew up together joined the army together."

Damon nodded.

"Speaking of how is Aaron?" Amelia enquired.

"He's good coming home in a couple of weeks." Maurie placed the shandy in front of Amelia and likewise a beer for Damon.

"You must be looking forward to that?" Amelia asked as Maurie took a pull on his own beer.

"Yeah it's been too long. The life of a soldier."

Out of the corner of his eye Damon saw Amelia nod. Damon took a drink of the frothy topped, cool amber liquid. It was good.

"So back to the reason you're here. How can I help?"

- KITA -

Turned out Maurie did help.

Damon left most of the recounting of the last 5 days to Amelia seeing as she knew more than he did. Amelia started with finding Damon unconscious on the bank of the creek up until today. Damon giving the odd comment on things he knew or remembered.

Maurie listened with increasing interest, asking a question now and then when he needed clarification on something.

"Well this maybe nothing or it may be something, last night this guy was in here he lives in Ada but he's a sheriff's deputy over in Oklahoma City told me that after that rain we had he and 2 other deputies had pulled a body from the Panther Creek. The family claimed the body a couple of days later. But a couple of days after that a young man showed up at the sheriff's office making enquiries about the body and was shown the photos of the body at the coroner's office.

Images of the shaggy haired man from his dreams filled Damon's mind.

"Did he say what this man looked like?" He questioned.

"No, just that he was young," Maurie paused to take another drink from his beer, "but then he saw the same man again, yesterday at the hospital in Oklahoma City while he was interviewing a stabbing victim. The same man was there showing a man's photo and enquiring if the man in the photo had been admitted or treated in the 5 days prior."

"This deputy did he get a look at the photo?"

"As a matter of fact he did and he said the man in the photo looked a lot like the man they pulled out of the creek."

Amelia and Damon looked at each other. "Someone is looking for you." Amelia said in a slightly breathless voice.

Damon was a little apprehensive over this revelation. "We don't know that for sure."

"What else could it be?"

Damon didn't answer he stared down into the dregs of his beer.

"What do you want to do?"

When Damon remained silent Amelia turned to Maurie. "What do you think, Maurice?"

Maurie looked from Amelia to Damon. "I think Amelia's right it does seem that this man is looking for you."

"You see Maurice agrees with me."

"I could try to get a bit more information about this man, maybe you could track him down from that?"

"Or wait until he finds me. "Damon spoke up at last.

- KITA -

Sam was beginning to lose hope. It had been nearly 3 days; 3 days of fruitless and disheartening searching.

The morning of the first day in suit and tie he'd spent canvassing all hospitals and clinics in the area. No one answering Dean's description had been admitted or treated in any of them.

That afternoon found him tracking along the banks of the creek; a duffle bag filled with food and water slung over his shoulder his trusty Glock at his back a pair of binoculars strapped to his waist. He started behind the ruins of the Everly farmhouse at the spot where he believed Dean had gone in to the creek. From there he made his way downstream. Sam stopped every few minutes and scanned each side of the creek in front and behind him making sure he didn't miss anything picking out some kind of landmark a tree a rock a bend in the creek further downstream before he made his way to that point and repeated the process. Most of the going was fairly easy walking but there were some places that required more climbing to negotiate the rocky outcrops that butted up to the creek. Every time he crested one of the outcrops he half expected his brother to be sitting with his back against a tree or sitting atop a rock or a tree stump wearing a grin like a split watermelon and saying something like.

"_Hey there Sammy what took you so long? Pull up a rock, the view is amazing."_

Of course it never happened.

Even with that knot of anxiety in his stomach growing and rising with each passing hour until it became a soccer ball of fear lodged in his throat threatening to cut off his air supply and strangle him to death Sam had to admit that his imagination Dean was right. The view was amazing. Raw natural beauty that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Beauty that lacked one important thing his brother.

Sam followed the creek until it petered out about 7 miles south of Gerty.

The sun was low in the sky as he walked from the creek to the nearest road and headed north back towards where he'd left the Impala and was lucky enough to catch a ride with an old dude who happened to be going the same way. After a hair raising ride in which the old man drove at a snail's pace and spent most of the journey on the wrong side of the road, Sam heaved a sigh of relief and was more than happy to see the impala come into sight over a slight rise on the road the setting sun glinting off her sleek black body.

From there he'd driven to Ada booked into the first motel he came across. Tossing his and the weapons duffle onto the nearest bed he pulled out his cell phone and rang Bobby.

"Any luck?"

Bobby heard the note of despair in Sam's voice in his answer.

"It's like he dropped off the planet."

"Don't give up boy, you'll find him I know you will." He'd reassured the younger man.

"Yeah Bobby I know, I'll call you tomorrow."

Physically exhausted he'd crashed out.

He was running out of options so today armed with nothing more than a photo of Dean, Sam trudged the streets of Ada. Showing Dean's picture to everyone he passed on the street and to every shop retailer.

It was mid afternoon when he parked the Impala at the far end of the main street.

Sam eyed the bar on the corner across the road he darkened neon sign for 'Maurie Mack's Tavern' looked inviting when he'd finished his canvass if the tavern was open he would drop a medicinal beer would be just the thing for his parched throat.

Striding out he made his way back down the street, stopping everyone he'd met and entering every store and business.

He was half way up the other side the tavern drawing closer and diagonally across the street the Impala waited.

The bell above the door tinkled as Sam pushed open the door of the next shop; the air of beauty salon had a slight sulfur smell lingering in the air. Sam remembered reading somewhere that hair permanent waving solution had that kind of smell. The staff looked up from various tasks eying him appreciatively as he entered. Their clients forgotten they gathered around when Sam produced Dean's picture, passing it around with various remarks.

"I wish he had of been here, sweetie I'd never forget that face." Said the pencil thin young male hair stylist in black jeans so tight it left nothing to the imagination and so many piercings Sam thought that if he went outside during a thunder storm he would get struck by lightning, the 2 rings in his bottom lip bobbing comically with each lisping word.

He then reached up running his black painted fingertips through the hair over Sam's ear. "How about you handsome you could do with a trim and how about a few highlights."

"Some other time, thanks."

He could feel 4 sets of eyes on his back as he pulled open the door and stepped out onto the narrow sidewalk.

The sound of an old car engine made him look up. An old dark red Ford pickup was approaching slowly as it got closer the afternoon sun at his back reflected off the windshield blinding him momentarily. Through the bright spots of light almost filling his vision Sam got a glimpse of the occupants of the pick up as it rumbled slowly past.

On the passenger side closest to him was an older lady her silver hair pulled back in a pony tail.

The driver turned his head slightly towards her for a moment; his lips tipped up in a smile moving silently as he said something to the woman.

And then he lost sight of the occupants as the pickup moved by.

Sam watched the rear of pickup grew smaller as it moved further away down the street one corner of the tarp covering the contents of the tray flapping in the breeze created by the forward movement of the truck.

He was rooted to the spot his mind was slow at processing what he had just seen.

The face of the driver he knew, he knew it better than he knew his own. The driver of the pickup was his brother.

Sam sprang into action he took off like an Olympic sprinter diagonally across the street dodging cars from the left then right throwing numerous glances down the street trying to keep the pickup in sight. His flight was accompanied by the sound of car horns and screeching brakes filling the air all around. His his extra long legs carrying him quickly over the asphalt to the sidewalk on the other side where the Impala was parked.

Slamming the door shut he gunned the engine and with a cursory glance over his left shoulder he sent the big car into a squealing u-turn; now at least he was facing in the right direction. Jamming his foot down on the accelerator Sam squinted up ahead the tail of the pickup a speck of red in the distance.

- KITA -

Ever the gentleman Damon opened the door of the pickup for Amelia to get in. He closed it skirting around the truck to the driver's side once inside, he sat ramrod straight staring out the windshield.

Amelia could see the tension around his mouth and in the set of his jaw.

"Well at least we know a little more that this man is looking for you." She said.

"Yeah. That could be good and bad."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked looking at his profile as he stared up the road.

"Maybe that dude that's looking for me is a lawman or a bounty hunter?"

"He could also be a friend or a family member desperate to find you." Amelia tried for reason.

Still looking ahead Damon added. "Yeah or maybe he's after me because I'm bad, a killer or an escaped lunatic?"

Amelia shook her head. "You are not a killer."

Damon shot her a sideways glance. "What makes you so sure? You don't know anything about me, hell I don't know anything about me." He answered frustrated.

"I don't know it's just a feeling."

Damon started the engine pulling out onto the street. The atmosphere in the car was tense.

A mental picture of the tall broad-shouldered shaggy-haired man filled his head. "Do you think perhaps this man is the man in my dreams?" Damon turned a serious face to Amelia.

"He could be."

Damon's expression changed; the corners of his mouth tipped up into a smile.

"Maybe the man of my dreams is searching for me."

The humor of that thought lightening the mood and wiping the seriousness from his handsome face.

They had left the streets of Ada behind when Damon asked the question that had been playing on his mind, since he'd heard something Maurie had said.

"Amelia who's DeClerque?"

Amelia glanced at his profile then back out the passenger side window. "Maurice and his big mouth," she sighed then added. "Leopold DeClerque originally from South Africa now residing in Dallas he's a very wealthy entrepreneur come property developer; about 6 months ago he started buying up all the property in the area. He was offering an exorbitant amount of money much more than the property's are worth. It was an offer too good to pass up for all my neighbors."

"But not you." It was a statement not a question. "What does he want the land for?" Damon enquired.

"He wants to build huge complex with a 5 star hotel, casino and shopping center."

"But you've thrown a spanner in the works, because you won't sell."

"My property is right in the middle. So I'm stopping his plan to decimate this whole area of Oklahoma with some monstrosity so now he's started bullying tactics sending his henchmen nearly every day to intimidate and bully me into signing the sale contract."

"And now it's been 2 weeks since you saw or heard anything from them. Maybe Maurie is right maybe he's given up."

"You don't know this guy he won't give up; I think he's planning something."

Damon thought for a moment. "Do you know how DeClerque made his money?"

"No but there are rumors that his money wasn't acquired through shall we say honest means."

"Well I'm here now so you don't have to worry about it. If he or his goons come around they'll have me to answer too."

- KITA -

Sam caught sight of the pickup a mile outside of Ada. He kept it in sight but stayed back not close enough to arouse any suspicion in the occupants that they were being followed.

He fought against an instinct to floor the accelerator of the Impala overtake the old truck force it over to the side of the road and ask his brother what the hell he thought he was doing. _How dare you do this to me Dean, putting me through 5 days of torment?_ There had to be an explanation for Dean's curious and seemingly selfish behavior, because to do this to Sam was totally out of character for his big brother, Sam's mentor and guardian the man who since the age of 4 had protected Sam with his life.

So he sat back lifting his foot ever so slightly off the accelerator waiting to see where this road would lead.

They were about 30 minutes out of Ada when up ahead the brake lights flashed on the pickup and it turned right.

Drawing level with the spot where he thought the car had turned. He found a dirt track leading into the trees; a cloud of dust hovered on the air settling slowly behind the pickup which had already travelled down the track and out of sight.

Pulling the wheel to the right Sam turned onto the dirt road crawling slowly along in the wake of the old Ford.

The bumpy potholed track continued on a relatively straight path for a minute then twisted left and then right through the thick tall tunnel of trees already turning to fall colors, the Impala kicking leaves already fallen in its wake. The track continued on for more than a mile before up ahead through the dense trees Sam caught a glimpse of some kind of structure, a house possibly.

Erring on the side of caution he decided he would walk from here. Pulling the Impala off the track over into a small Impala sized break in the trees he got out checking the clip in his Glock tucking it into his waistband he began to walk.

He was a couple of hundred meters further down the track when the distressed cry of a woman filled the air around him. It sounded like a warning cry.

Sam picked up the pace to a jog. A minute later skidding to a halt as he emerged from the trees the structure he had seen before was a house a dilapidated two story farmhouse surrounded on all sides by more trees the track he had been following winding around the side of the house.

A champagne colored Lexus RX and the pickup were parked on the track out the front.

The distance between the 2 vehicles one old and one new seemed to be filled with people, but in fact was only 6; four men Sam didn't recognize the silver-haired woman he had seen in the pickup and Sam's brother. They were playing out what looked like a scene from a Bruce Willis action movie.

In a split second Sam took in the scene noting 3 of the men were large and muscle bound wearing tight round neck t-shirts tucked into jeans.

The fourth was smaller and dressed in a dark suit. He was holding the silver-haired lady firmly by her arms she was struggling hard to escape his grip her hair coming loose from the ponytail her eyes on Dean.

But it was Dean and his predicament that drew Sam's undivided attention. His eyes pinned to his brother and then Sam was running.

Dean was being held by 2 of the musclemen. They had his arms twisted up behind his back he was struggling in their grip but Sam could see Dean's legs were buckling the 2 men the only thing keeping him on his feet. It was clear that he was unable and probably incapable of freeing or defending himself.

Dean's face and neck were streaked with blood.

The third muscleman standing with his back half turned away from Sam stood in front of his brother feet braced in an offensive way his fists clenched. As Sam watched he slammed a right then followed up with a left uppercut to Dean's unprotected belly. He heard the breath huff out of Dean as he sagged forward held up only by the men's hold on him.

Through the blood pounding in his head and rushing past his ears as he drew closer Sam heard the silver-haired lady yelling something but he couldn't decipher the words.

The muscle bound punch thrower then grabbed hold of Dean's hair before he lifted his knee into Dean's groin. Dean groaned as the man pulled his head roughly up drawing back his meaty fist this time intending to slam it into Dean's pinched pain-filled face.

So engrossed in beating up his brother they didn't notice Sam's approach. He came to a halt his Glock out and up in a 2 handed grip feet braced standing slightly to one side where he could cover the men surrounding his brother and the man holding the woman.

"Let him go _now_." Sam shouted his voice firm, deep and dripping with barely harnessed fury.

That drew their attention; all eyes were now on him. The man attacking his brother fist still raised had blood running from his nose and mouth it ran down his chin and stained the front of his t-shirt. _Way to go Dean._

Seeing the gun in Sam's hands the man let go of Dean's hair and Dean's head fell forward onto his chest his knees buckling further.

The other 2 musclemen stared stupidly at the gun shocked at this turn of events.

"I said let him go… NOW!" Sam growled.

They let go of Dean's arms and Dean fell to the ground and lay still.

"Step away."

All 3 sidled away from Dean's slumped form towards the man who still held the woman by her arms. Sam aimed the gun at the center of the group the suited man's grip on the woman loosened; she pulled out of his hold ran the short distance to Dean's side.

"Get out of here before I blow you into the middle of next week."

The suited man gulped and backed away towards the SVU. The 3 big men following. The one with the bloody nose pulled the hem of his t-shirt from his jeans and swiped it across his nose and chin examining the bloody material.

When the suit opened the passenger side door of the SVU sheltering behind it where he obviously felt a modicum of safety from the tall young man with a gun fire in his hazel eyes and hatred in his tone.

"This isn't over. Mr. DeClerque will not take no for an answer, if you don't want matters to get worse then sign that contract Miss Hart." The man said a South African accent twisted the threatening words.

Sam's focus never left the men. From behind him the woman's furious voice answered.

"You can tell DeClerque that there is no way in hell he's getting his grubby hands on my land."

Without another word the 4 men got into the Lexus slamming the doors with more force than necessary. The powerful engine roared to life and with a spray of dust and stones from the rear tires the driver turned it in a circle drove away down the track.

When the big vehicle had disappeared from sight Sam lowered the Glock tucking it into his belt as he hurried over to his brother's side falling to his knees next to Dean and the woman.

Dean's bloody head was cradled in the lap of the woman his eyes closed. The woman had one hand on his chest and the other resting against the top of his head. She looked up from Dean's bloody covered face at Sam her silver hair falling around her face her gray eyes filled with tears of emotion.

"Thank you I thought they were going to kill him." Her voice trembled just a little.

Sam opened his mouth to say. _"And who the hell are you?" _But a groan from his brother drew both their attention back to the prostate man.

His head rolled slightly against the woman's thighs long thick eyelashes fluttered and then lifted revealing green irises. He blinked a few times as if clearing away cobwebs from his vision, squinted eyes on the woman leaning over him. Seemingly satisfied that she was unharmed Dean turned his eyes to Sam.

His brow creased in confusion for a moment before a weak, watery smile crossed his face.

"Sammy?"

_**To be continued…  
**_

So the brothers are reunited at last! Please read and review.

_Silvertayl 57_


	9. Chapter 9

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:  
**See Chapter 1

**Beta:  
**_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:  
**Don't die of shock! Yes I'm back! I know it's been 3 months but I'm not going to bore you with an overabundance of excuses. I'm just going to say here's chapter 9, enjoy.

**Chapter 9: "Sam, where's my Baby?"**

Damon knew as soon as the old Ford cleared the trees that DeClerque hadn't given up as Maurie had suggested. The brand new Champagne colored Lexus RX parked outside the house was a dead giveaway.

Beside him Amelia gasped. "Oh no."

Damon shot a quick glance at Amelia before returning his eyes to the men.

"DeClerque?" He asked.

"His henchmen." Amelia answered.

As the pickup drew closer, a cloud of dust billowing in the Ford's wake; the three men lazing against the SUV straightened their heads turning almost in unison in the occupant's direction.

One of the men threw a lit cigarette down at his feet then ground his foot on the butt.

"Don't worry I'll take care of this." Damon said as he pulled the old car up on the rough driveway that led to the barn a dozen meters beyond the SUV.

Damon opened the door his foot already outside the car when Amelia's small hand on his arm stopped him.

"Damon, be careful."

He grinned at her. "Careful is my middle name… I think."

As Damon closed the small distance between the pickup and the now alert men all three muscle bound giants were tanned to a dark unnatural yellowish brown wearing jeans and tee-shirts 2 sizes too small like some kind of uniform; hired for their bicep size rather than IQ; the passenger door of the SUV opened and a fourth man got out. He was the opposite of the three others, young to spite his balding pate; the man was small, weedy and naturally pale his dark suit tailored perfectly to his small frame.

"Help you?" Damon asked stopping a few feet away; his eyes scanning across the men.

"My name is Byron Schmitt I represent Mr. Leopold DeClerque I… we," he indicated the large men around him, "have business with Miss Hart." Weedy answered the South African accent which Damon knew by instinct he had always found grating.

Damon locked his gaze on the man. "I represent Miss Hart, so talk to me. What is it you want?"

Muscle bound next to weedy growled menacingly. "As Mr. Schmitt said our business is with Miss Hart."

"As I said I represent Miss Hart."

"Listen smart ass, we don't want no trouble but if you're looking I'm glad to oblige."

"Wow, oblige that a big word for you, tiny?"Damon's green eyes were now on the big man.

One side of muscle bound's mouth lifted and he snarled. Weedy glanced up at him putting a pale manicured hand against his chest, restraining the big man. "Bruno, not yet." Weedy's eyes came back to Damon. "If I could just speak with Miss Hart?" He added.

Damon heard the door of the pickup open and close behind him, he instinctively half turned towards the sound to warn Amelia to stay away.

That moment of distraction was all the big man needed he snatched up a rock with lightening speed and swung it at Damon's unprotected head.

Damon caught the slight movement out of the corner of his eye at the same time as Amelia's shout of warning rang out across the short distance. "Look out!"

He turned back. Too late.

Pain exploded in his head as the rock held in Bruno's massive hand smashed with brute force against the side of his head.

Damon wheeled away from the blow, falling to his hands and knees in the dirt, his head a mass of pain that centered on where he could feel the warmth of his blood running through his hair and down his face.

"Bruno I said not yet."

"He asked for it the little smart ass."

"Get him up."He heard Weedy say.

Rough hands grabbed at him closing around him and he was pulled roughly to his feet arms twisted up brutally behind his back.

"Leave him alone, don't touch him," He heard Amelia's emotion, fear filled voice close by through the ringing in his ears, "let go of me."

Through hazy vision Bruno's wide flat smiling face swam into view so close Damon could smell stale cigarettes and onions on his breathe.

Bruno's smile faded when Damon forced out.

"Dude, two words, breath and mint?"

Taking advantage of the big man's closeness Damon made a move that he would regret in the next instance. He smashed his forehead into the man's face. To spite the added pain to his already throbbing head Damon had a moment of satisfaction at the crack as the cartilage of Bruno's nose broke under the much harder bone of his skull.

Bruno stumbled back a step, his hand coming up to his face covering his nose blood already leaking out between his sausage fingers.

"You little shit, you broke my nose."

Another voice close to his ear from one of the other goons holding him tight sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

"Shouldna' done that. Now you've made Bruno very angry."

'My bad." He mumbled.

Bruno rounded on him slamming a ham sized fist into his face; splitting his lip and smashing the sharp edge of his teeth against the tender flesh inside his mouth the force of the blow rocked his head back on his shoulders.

Damon groaned rolling his head forward slowly he blinked up at Bruno.

"Is that the best you got?"

Bruno gave a twisted smile. "Don't you worry I'm just warming up."

Clenching his fists Bruno hit him with a right and a left to his unprotected belly, doubling him over and driving the little breath he had from his ailing body. The grip of the other goons the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground in a heap.

"Stop it, please stop."

Amelia's distressed quavering plea sounded dim and far away.

A hand gripped his hair a moment before pain exploded in his nether regions as Bruno's knee rammed into his groin.

Damon groaned as the hand in his hair tightened, twisting and pulling his head up. Barely conscious and through half closed eyes he saw Bruno draw back his ham sized fist yet again. _Maybe I shouldn't have pissed this guy off cuz here comes the coup de grace._

"Let him go, _now_." A deep stern voice rang out.

The silence that followed the command was deafening.

With one final tug Bruno let go of Damon's hair. With his head no longer supported Damon had no strength to keep his head up he let it fall forward onto his chest his knees quivering like jello buckled under him.

"I said let him go… NOW!" The voice commanded.

As if stung the goons holding him let him go. His only means of support now gone Damon crumpled to the ground, the impact with the dirt the final straw as darkness and then silence overwhelmed him.

Awareness returned in degrees each degree more painful than the last. His aching throbbing head was cushioned on some sort of rough material that trembled and shook slightly. _Or is it me that's shaking?_ Something soft, warm and comforting lay against his head and chest.

Amelia's wobbling emotion filled voice cut through the silence.

"Thank you I thought they were going to kill him."

He felt the vibration from the words through the rough cushion under his head, realizing that the trembling shaking cushion was Amelia.

He couldn't hold back the groan that welled up from deep inside; rolling his head experimentally against Amelia he forced his eyes open, blinking to clear the blurriness. Amelia seemed to be upside down, but he was relieved to see that although disheveled she appeared to be unhurt.

Sensing another presence he rolled his eyes to the worried face of the shaggy-haired young man kneeling beside him.

He felt a frown crease his brow the already congealing blood stretching. _I know you, you're the man from my dreams the man I'm always chasing, you're…_

He felt his frown morph into the semblance of a smile as the dam in his head burst unleashing thousands of memories that spewed and tumbled forth.

"Sammy?"

Sam quirked one eyebrow exaggeratedly. "Yeah it's me. You were expecting someone else?"

"Sam, where's my baby?"

Sam gave a short frustrated laugh. "You've been missing presumed dead for nearly a week, Bobby and I have been frantic and all you say is, Sam, where's my baby?"

"Damned straight."

"You're unbelievable." Sam said with a shake of his head.

"Sam if you've put one mark on her I'm gonna beat you to a pulp."

"That's rich coming from you in your current state."

"Sam!"

"Don't worry she's safe I left her in the trees back up the track a ways."

Dean opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Amelia's soft almost breathless voice. Dean had momentarily forgotten about her and apparently Sam had too by the way he looked at her.

"You're the man the one Damon's been dreaming about; the one who's been looking for him."

Sam's full attention was now on the older woman.

"Amelia this is my little brother, Sam."

"Little brother? It's good to meet you."

Sam inclined his head. "Amelia. So he was dreaming about me?"

"Every night."

Sam looked back down at his brother. "Dean what do you think you're doing? And what the hell is going on? You've got some explaining to do and why is she calling you Damon?"

"So many questions, my head hurts, w'did that goon hit me with?" Dean lifted a hand to his abused head.

"A rock." Amelia answered Dean's question.

Seeing Dean's face scrunch up in pain Sam was immediately contrite. "Dean you alright? You might have a concussion?"

"No I'm not alright If you're gonna grill me I need a drink. So do you think we can continue this conversation when I'm on my feet and not lying in the dirt bleeding? Help me up will you." He added.

And with that the tension was broken. Sam couldn't stop the smile that lit up his face. "Man it's good to see you, I've missed you."

Sam reached down a hand towards his brother but before he could assist Dean to his feet he was hit by a missile made of white fur and muscle that knocked him sideways away from Dean.

As Sam righted himself he was surprised to see the furry missile was the biggest dog he'd ever seen. At least Sam thought it was a dog either that or a small pony.

The animal's attention was all for Dean its mouth parted and a long pink tongue snaked out swiping across Dean's screwed up face as he fought to stave off the affectionate onslaught.

Sam had to pull further away to avoid getting whiplashed in the face by the long fluffy tail as whipped back and forth enthusiastically.

"Alright Pearl that's enough." Amelia's amused voice said as she pushed gently at the large animal.

"Now that is the biggest dog I've ever seen." Sam stated pointing at the large squirming animal.

"Her father was a horse." Amelia and Dean said in unison.

A minute later with the huge dog now under control and with Dean on his feet Sam and Amelia had tried to assist him towards the house but he had pulled away heading back towards the pickup.

"Dean where are you going?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna put the old girl away." Dean gestured to the red pickup.

"Dean I can do that go with Amelia."

"I've got this go and get my baby I wanna see her with my own eyes."

Sam didn't argue he turned to head back towards where he'd left the Impala. He had only taken two steps when at Dean's voice he turned back.

"Oh Sam can I borrow your cell? I've lost mine, somewhere. I wanna call Bobby the old man will be frantic.

Sam fished his phone out of his pocket. "Good idea, here catch." He said as he threw it in Dean's direction.

Dean reached up and plucked the phone out of the air. "Thanks."

- KITA -

Bobby decided it was hard to pace in a wheelchair; _hard, hell it was impossible._ So he had to find some other way of passing the time other than wringing his hands as he waited half way between anticipation and dread for Sam's next call.

With a bottle of rot gut beside him he'd tried reading but his mind kept drifting back to the brother's. So after he'd read the same line 5 times in the massive century old tome on exorcism rituals he'd given it up as a bad job; he slammed the cover in frustration which sent a plume of dust and a damp, musty smell into the air. With a sigh he pushed the book away the movement accompanied by the growling of his stomach.

That brought to mind the thought that it had been some time since he had eaten and the whiskey he'd drunk had hit rock bottom. He rubbed at his stomach trying to ease the burn. _Starving myself isn't gonna make the phone ring any sooner._

He emptied a tin of soup into a battered saucepan and placed it over the heat gave it a stir before he wheeled the chair across the kitchen to the breadbox. The contents were much less than awe inspiring the half dozen slices of bread wrapped haphazardly in a plastic bag was hard and stale which made it impossible to dunk in his soup but perfect for toasting. With the bag of stale bread on his lap he wheeled over to the toaster and pulled two slices out of the bag. As he put them in the toaster that had been dropped so many times that it was a miracle it still worked the phone rang.

He started away from the toaster and hurriedly turned the chair towards the library. The air filled with curses as he banged into the edge of the kitchen cupboard.

"Balls, why the hell is it when you damned well try to hurry everything conspires against you to slow you down?"

Reaching for the phone he knocked it out of the cradle before he could grasp the errant phone that seemed to have a acquired a life of its own it bounced off the arm of his chair then hit the threadbare carpet with a dull thud a meter away.

More curses turned the air blue as he wheeled up beside the phone that was still ringing insistently. After some fumbling he grasped the phone and pressed the connect button.

"Sam?" Bobby said rather breathlessly.

"Hey there Ironsides what took you so long? You tip that chair over and have to crawl to the phone?"

Bobby couldn't believe he was hearing that voice that deep smooth, humor-filled voice. Dean's voice.

"Dean?"

"Yeah it's me."

"You're alright."

"Yeah Bobby I'm good."

Dean had to hold the phone away from his ear as Bobby launched into a loud tirade.

"Are you trying to kill me you idjit? I'm glad you're not dead cuz when I see you I'm gonna throttle you."

- KITA -

When Sam returned some 10 minutes later the old pickup was gone. The front door opened and Dean hurried down the steps he fell onto the car, running his hands across the dusty duco and murmuring endearments.

"Aww baby it's good to see you, I hope Sam has been treating you with the respect you deserve?"

Shutting of the engine Sam got out and came to stand behind his brother. "Would you two like to be alone?"

"Shut up." Dean answered without heat as he gave the hood one last pat and turned to Sam.

Sam smiled. "You talk to Bobby?"

"Yeah he threatened to kill me."

"Oh is that all? Guess he was happy I found you then?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah he was, come on Sammy let's go get that drink."

They made their way through the house Sam observed that although the house was clean and tidy there was nothing new or modern.

Once in the kitchen. Dean opened the back door and was about to step out when Amelia asked.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Dean gestured out the door. "To get the supplies from the pick up."

"Let Sam take care of that, you come over here and sit down."

"But I-."

"Do you want a dose of Caster Oil?"

Dean sounded all of 5 when he answered. "No."

Sam felt a smile spread across his face. No one had talked to Dean like that since Missouri.

At Amelia's next words Sam had to contain a burst of laughter.

"Well do as you're told and come and sit down."

"It's okay Dean I don't mind."

The pickup was parked in front of a large barn. A sleek black cat was lying on the Ford's hood absorbing the last of the heat from the cooling motor, as Sam approached the feline opened its eyes and regarded him for a moment before it went back to its slumber.

The air was cooler now the sun had lost its warmth it sat low in the sky sinking closer and closer to the horizon, night was fast approaching.

After the supplies were stowed away and the brothers were both seated across from each other, Dean related all that had happened over the last several days while Amelia bustled about the kitchen gathering together all she needed to treat Dean's new injuries.

Pearl, Sam had been informed whose father was not actually a horse but an Irish wolfhound sat in between them looking up at Dean adoringly and shooting the occasional suspicious look at Sam.

Dean was nursing a glass containing cooking sherry from the bottle Amelia had found in one of the kitchen cupboards.

Dean had smiled when he saw the label on the bottle but had accepted the glass she poured and handed him without complaint. Sherry was so typical of the lady he had come to know well in a short space of time.

He swirled the dark viscous liquid around the glass before he brought the glass to his lips. The sweet warmth of the alcohol filled his mouth stinging the cut inside his mouth before he swallowed it. The warmth burned a trail of comforting fire down into his belly.

Amelia put a small bowl of diluted antiseptic and some cotton squares on the table then sat down beside Dean. She gently turned Dean's head and began bathing the cut above his ear.

Sam was leaning forward across the table listening intently to Dean's recounting of the last week.

"So you didn't remember anything after the Everly house blew up?"

"Vague things, trees, mud, water, cold. The first thing I really remember clearly was waking up on Amelia's couch but now I remember everything."

Dean eyed the healing cut along Sam's jaw and his scratched scabbed over hands. "You get those in the explosion?"

Sam lifted his hands and examined them briefly. "Yeah mostly from digging in the rubble. Bobby fixed me up. After I realized you weren't in the house or what was left of it I searched everywhere around right up to the creek; I don't understand why I didn't find you then."

"I think I have an idea why I think I was umm blown into a tree-" Dean stopped on an indrawn hiss as the antiseptic Amelia was using stung the raw flesh.

"Sorry, Dam- Dean it doesn't look too bad the bleeding has almost stopped I just needed to make sure there's nothing in there." Amelia said as she threw the bloody cotton back into the small bowl of antiseptic picking up a dry piece of cotton patting the split flesh dry gently then applying pressure to the cut to staunch the remaining trickle of blood.

Sam didn't miss the slip from the older woman. "So Amelia you named him Damon?"

Not taking her eyes away from the job at hand Amelia nodded. "I did."

"Amelia saved my life; if it wasn't for her I'd be dead. She always seems to be patching me up." Dean added, sliding his eyes from Sam to Amelia.

Amelia smiled.

Sam was beginning to realize how much he truly owed this gentle, soft-eyed woman.

"Amelia thank you for saving my brother. Me and Bobby we thought he was dead. And he would be if it wasn't for you." Sam's voice was emotionally charged.

Amelia looked over at Damon's brother. She could see the likeness to Damon in Sam's eyes although Sam's eyes were more hazel than green. "You're welcome Sam. The way he stood up for me against DeClerque's men he's my knight in shining armor."

Dean recognized the title of Amelia's favorite book in her words of praise.

He gave a derisive self depreciative laugh and looked away from the affection and adoration shining in her gray eyes. "More like a knight in tarnished armor."

Amelia looked across at him. "Still underestimating yourself."

Sam changed the subject. "So Dean what was all that about outside? Either you pissed someone off in the last week or there's something else going on. Even you couldn't have made that many enemies in such a short space of time?"

Dean looked at Amelia to see if she objected to him relaying her dilemma to Sam.

She gave a half smile and a nod.

"Amelia's got some trouble with a highflyin' local business man by the name of DeClerque, not our kind of trouble but trouble none the less, I'd like to help."

As Dean knew he would Sam jumped right in. "Count me in it's the least I can do for the lady who saved your life."

Amelia looked embarrassed her cheeks flushing pink.

"So you got any ideas where to start?"

"You got your laptop?"

"In the car."

"See if you can dig up anything on DeClerque."

- KITA -

Sam bought up all the information he had found on DeClerque. This in itself was not much. The most recent was an article from a Dallas newspaper dated 7 months ago on DeClerque's latest venture a casino and shopping mall in Oklahoma.

"Say's here Leopold Andre DeClerque born Nov 9 1951 in Johannesburg. Arrived in the US in March 1988; soon after his arrival he invested in real estate with money he apparently brought from South Africa everything he touched turned to gold he's now one of the wealthiest men in The US. He owns property all over the states, LA, New York, Chicago, Miami, Dallas some of which is an office block in and the penthouse apartment in The Vista the most prestige apartment block in Dallas a couple of oil wells in Texas and now as we know a huge parcel of land in Oklahoma."

Amelia placed a plate of sandwiches on the table in between them.

"I thought you boys might be hungry."

Dean smiled gratefully at her, reaching for a sandwich. "Thanks I'm famished."

Sam looked up from the computer screen. "Yeah me too, thanks Amelia."

"You're both welcome. I'm going out to the barn to see to Blossom."

"You're not eating?" Dean asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

Amelia looked a little strained. "Maybe later."

Dean swallowed and took another bite of his sandwich, watching as Amelia opened and closed the kitchen door behind her.

As perceptive as ever Sam asked. "Is she okay?"

"This thing is really getting to her, plus I think she's used to having me to herself."

Sam gave a derisive laugh as he picked up a sandwich from the plate. "Yeah right."

Dean ignored him. "So DeClerque is a real life JR Ewing with a South African accent. A guy like that doesn't get to the top without the skeletons of the people he's trodden on to get there lining his closest."

Sam lifted his hand waving the sandwich at the screen. "There's nothing I can find, no police reports not even a parking ticket the man appears to be a saint."

"Anything from before he came to The US."

Sam shook his head. "I can't find anything at all. It's like the man didn't exist until he came here."

"We're going to have to dig deeper."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I think we should pay Mr. Leopold DeClerque a visit."

"When do you wanna' leave?"

"First thing in the morning." Dean crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and got up from the table, dusting crumbs off his hands.

"Where you going?"

"Talk to Amelia."

A lit hurricane lamp slung over a nail on a support beam in the center of the barn sent light spilling out onto the yard, illuminating Amelia where she stood in Blossoms stall. She was leaning against the mare, stroking her neck and talking quietly.

Amelia unaware of his approach was talking candidly to the mare. Dean stopped in the shadow of the barn door out of sight of the pair.

"I'm glad Sam found his brother, and that _Dean," _she paused for a moment, "I can't get used to calling him Dean he'll always be my green-eyed hero, Damon, my knight in shining armor."

Intrigued and touched he almost missed the next words.

"I know it's only been a week, but I got used to him being around, I feel like I'm living again for the first time since Nick died. But now Sam's here it's different, he'll leave soon you and I'll be all alone again. Of course I'll always have you, Pearl and Obsi, but…" She sighed on the last word.

Dean didn't want Amelia to know he'd overheard her heartfelt outpouring of emotion, still in the shadow of the barn he crept back half dozen paces towards the house.

Then started forward again making as much noise as possible; scuffing his boots in the dirt and clearing his throat.

When he rounded the barn door Amelia had turned away and was placing things on hooks outside Blossom's stall.

"Amelia." Dean said stopping inside the door.

She half turned towards him and he saw her hastily wipe at her eyes with the side of her fingers.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes of course, I got some dust in my eye."

"Sam and I we're leaving in the morning."

"So soon?"

"We'll be back after we sort out DeClerque."

She turned fully towards him. "You're coming back?" She said in surprise.

"Of course."

"Promise me you'll be careful?"

Dean gave her a cheeky grin and the two fingered boy scouts sign. "I promise I'll be careful, scout's honor."

Amelia found herself smiling back. "Like you were ever a boy scout. You'd better be careful I don't want you or Sam coming back here all bloody."

"Yeah it's a bad habit of ours."

"I'll make up the couch for Sam."

"I'll take the couch; I've grown quite fond of it; besides there is no way my Sasquatch little brother can fit on it."

_**To be continued…**_

Thanks for reading please review.

Anybody interested in purchasing copies of my stories in book form with art and pictures? Also loads of SPN stuff?

Check out my eBay store here: ./SALTGUNNERS-PLACE

And in case FanFic chews up the link here it is in code:

stores(dot)ebay(dot)com(dot)au/SALTGUNNERS-PLACE Just replace the (dot/s) with a full stop (.)

_Silvertayl 57 _


	10. Chapter 10

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

I apologize for the lengthy delay with this chapter. A do however have a very good excuse.

I had major spinal surgery on November 14 and due to complications I was in hospital until a few days before Christmas and then I came down with gastritis and was ill over Christmas and New Year. After that it took me awhile to get back into writing.

But I'm back in the game now, so here's chapter 10.

**Authors Note/Warning:**

This chapter contains some disturbing subject matter.

**Chapter 10: **"**Plan B, you don't even have a plan A, Dean."**

Dean savored every moment behind the wheel of his baby as she chewed up the miles between Amelia's place and Dallas. It had only been a week but with all that had transpired in that week it felt like a lifetime.

With a Slash guitar riff blaring out of the speakers; the volume ramped up to a thumping ear splitting level it just felt right. He glanced at Sam beside him. A slight smile graced Sam's lips as he watched the scenery speeding by. That tiny smile said it felt right to him too.

_I could stay like this forever. Just me and Sam. We could keep on driving and see where Baby wants to take us?_

Then he remembered Amelia's soft, moisture filled gray eyes and sad expression as she hugged him and Sam and bid them farewell. As he drove away from the old farmhouse he could see her lonely figure in the rear view mirror.

_She thinks I'm not coming back. Amelia; dear, sweet, sad Amelia. No way. I'm coming back I promised I can't and won't do that to her._

They arrived in Dallas in the early afternoon going straight to DeClerque's office block. Dean parked the Impala a couple of blocks away as close as he get. They covered the short distance in no time at all.

Rosewood Court was beside the river in the up market area of Dallas and was a very impressive building standing 25 stories high.

As they pushed through the revolving doors entering the lobby they were greeted by 2 armed guards at a security check point.

They exchanged an unspoken look of _I'm not packing, what about you? _Their simultaneous but almost imperceptible shake of heads gave them the answer.

To their relief they both got through the checkpoint without any flashing red lights or alarms going off; making their way to the floor directory scanning the large board.

"DeClerque Industries, top floor." Sam pointed out.

"Of course it's the top floor; where else would the chief pooh bah hang out," Dean answered, adding, "so he can look down from his lofty height at the peasants below."

In unison the brothers strode across the lobby to the bank of elevators at the rear. The smell of fresh ground coffee wafted out from the coffee shop next to the large lounge area which was opposite a half dozen specialty shops as they passed.

Sam stabbed the up button of the nearest elevator glancing up at the floor indicator.

"You got any idea what you're going to say?" Sam asked.

"Not really. I'm making it up as I go."

"Do you think he's going to listen?"

"Probably not."

A ping sounded and the doors of the second elevator slid open; the brothers got in. Dean pressed the button marked 25 and the doors slid closed. Sam picking up on the conversation as the car began to rise smoothly and silently.

"What are we gonna do if he won't?"

Dean looked across the car at Sam. "Plan B?" Dean queried with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Plan B, you don't even have a plan A Dean."

"I'm working on plan A and besides I told you Sammy I'm making it up as I go along."

"That's not very reassuring."

"Thank you C3PO."

Another ping and the elevator doors slid open.

The brothers stepped out into a large open reception area. Plush red, black and gray patterned deep pile carpet covered the floor. Against the wall beside the elevator to the right 5 black leather upholstered overstuffed and uncomfortable looking chairs were placed around a low marble pedestal table; in the center of the table a large floral arrangement in a chrome vase stood at least a foot high; on either side of the vase 2 piles of glossy magazines were neatly stacked. Against the wall beside the waiting area was a set of double mahogany wooden doors the sign above read boardroom. A few feet across the expanse of carpet and Immediately opposite the elevators a chest high marble reception desk curved around in a semi circle; a large fish tank with colorful tropical fish skittering around inside was inset into the front of the counter.

Off to the left of the reception area was a hallway with 4 closed mahogany doors on the right side.

The brothers approached the reception desk. Three women sat behind the counter the one on the left was talking on the phone the one in the center was wearing headphones and tapping away at a keyboard and the third was shuffling through a large pile of papers.

"Excuse me." Sam said to the middle-aged brunette shuffling papers as he leaned forward slightly over the counter.

She didn't look up. "Yes?" Her tone disinterested.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"If it's not too much trouble we would like to see Mr. DeClerque?" Sam asked.

Sam's sarcasm didn't escape her. She looked up. Her hard brown eyes examined first Sam and then Dean taking in their casual clothing before going back to Sam.

"Do you have an appointment?" She asked her tone again disinterested. Sam got the impression she knew they didn't have an appointment.

"No." Sam answered.

"Mr. DeClerque is a busy man he does not see anybody without an appointment." She dropped the papers on the desk and hit a few keys on the keyboard in front of her.

"He can see you at 4 pm 2 weeks from this Thursday." She said glancing back at Sam.

Dean leaned forward a smile pulling at his face that Sam knew meant he was as far from happy as he could get. "You listen to me you stuck up bitch, we want to see DeClerque… now." Dean's tone was deep and dark.

"I beg your pardon." she said. Her affronted shocked expression almost made Sam laugh out loud.

"You heard me if you don't take us to DeClerque right now, I'll go find him myself." Dean held her eyes for a moment letting her know he meant it.

Without hesitation she picked up the phone and hit one of buttons glancing nervously between the brothers.

"Sir there is 2… men at reception demanding to see Mr. DeClerque."

There was a hesitation before she said. "I don't know."

After another hesitation she hung up the phone. "Mr. DeClerque's assistant will be out in a moment."

Dean gave her another smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?"

She gulped.

The brothers turned towards the sound of an opening door the weedy man, Schmitt from yesterday's encounter at Amelia's emerged approaching the desk.

Schmitt stumbled to a stop when he saw them.

"Hi there Byron." Dean said, leaning back against the counter his pose deceptively casual and relaxed.

"I'm sorry sir. I told them Mr. DeClerque doesn't see anyone without an appointment but they insisted." The receptionist, who had stood, said nervously.

He walked slowly forward towards them. "It's alright Marilyn I'll take care of it." Schmitt's South African accent no less hard and grating than it had been the day before. He stopped a few feet away from the brother's. "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"We want to see your boss." Sam answered.

"Sorry that's not possible."

"It wasn't a request." Dean said with menace.

Schmitt took a small step away from them. His eyes darted between them. "Alright. Follow me."

He turned away and strode down the hallway, the brothers following. Schmitt stopped outside the last door and rapped on the wooden panel before he pushed it open and stepped inside.

An older woman sat at a smaller version of the reception desk she looked up when they entered.

"Irene, Is Mr. DeClerque available?" Schmitt asked.

"Well he is on the phone with the mayor."

Before anyone moved Dean pushed past Schmitt and the secretary pushed open the wood paneled door behind the woman's desk and burst into the office beyond.

Behind the low long and wide desk a man reclined in the deep leather chair. His face bloated with a ruddy unhealthy complexion, a ginger goatee surrounded by the flesh of multiple chins, beady dark eyes topped off with thinning brown hair coiffed back from his sweaty forehead and a roll of fat that should have been a neck bulging from the collar of his buttoned shirt. The chubby fingers of one hand held a telephone to his ear the other held a lit stogie.

He glanced up as Dean surged through the door and seemingly unfazed by Dean's sudden entrance he continued his phone conversation. His beady eyes examined Dean and then Sam as he entered behind his brother. Schmitt was hot on Sam's tail.

"Julian I've got to go, so Gino's tonight at eight," he paused then added with a laugh. "Right okay I'll see you then." He dropped the phone into the cradle.

Dean thought Schmitt's accent was grating but DeClerque's was even more irritating. His chins wobbling comically when he spoke; his accent was more pronounced and high pitched than Schmitt's, sounding almost laughable coming from such a big man.

Dean took in DeClerque's office. On the southwest corner of the building the huge floor to ceiling windows behind DeClerque overlooked the river. It was very opulent and richly furnished. The floor covered in burgundy carpet, the walls cream and the woodwork matching the carpet. A huge widescreen TV covered most of one wall to Dean's right.

Schmitt poked his head out from behind Sam who blocked the much smaller man from sight and stammered out an apology. "I'm sorry sir but these men are here to discuss Miss Hart's property."

DeClerque sat forward in the chair leaning the elbow of the hand holding the stogie onto the edge of the desk before drawing on the stubby cigar.

"Really? Don't tell me she's finally going to accept my very generous offer?" He answered; the inhaled cigar smoke puffing from his mouth as he spoke.

Dean stepped up to the desk. "You listen to me Jabba; Miss Hart is never going to accept anything from you and has made it quite clear on a numerous occasions that she is not going to sell."

DeClerque gave a sneering smile. "Don't think I've had the pleasure, you are?"

"The name's Winchester, Dean Winchester."

"So Miss Hart has found herself a champion to fight for her."

"You could say that."

"Mr. Winchester. Let me show you something."

"What makes you think I'd be interested in anything you have to show me?"

"But it concerns Miss Hart."

"In what way?"

"You'll see."

He picked up a black remote control from the desk swiveling the chair and his massive body towards the TV screen he pointed and clicked a button on the remote.

The screen lit up with an artist's drawing of a huge imposing building soaring high into a star-filled night sky, a brightly lit neon sign in leopard skin print at the top declaring it to be: SAFARI.

"Vegas comes to Oklahoma. This gentlemen is The Safari. A casino and 110 suite hotel complex. It contains a half size Olympic heated swimming pool gymnasium and day spa. A basement shopping mall with exclusive shops and an 18 hole golf course and much, much more." He clicked the remote as he spoke cycling through artist's impressions of the pool, mall and golf course. DeClerque stopped on the next impression of the hotel suites; the walls covered in jungle wallpaper various African animals peered from the fronds of the greenery. The furniture was all cane with more jungle print fabric covered cushions.

"As you can see the five star hotel is in the theme of my African homeland," DeClerque continued as he clicked the remote again. Now a bedroom suite graced the screen; the headboard of the queen-sized bed also cane. The bedspread a montage of African animals. The bathroom if it was possible even more cheesy than the bedroom. A huge tub shaped like a pink flamingo the body of bird was the tub the webbed feet anchoring it to the floor; the bird's head turned back over the tub the long beak the faucet. Even more flamingos' graced the shower screen, the 2 person spa and framed the mirror.

The next drawing was of the casino complete with fake patrons wearing fake smiles. Buxom waitresses wearing leopard skin loincloths and matching bikini tops mingled with the patrons; they carried trays of drinks and cocktails with coconuts and pineapples for glasses. The croupier's and dealers dressed like a cross between Allan Quartermain and Indiana Jones attended the roulette wheels and blackjack tables. The African theme was again prevalent in the slot machines the tops lit up in the shapes of animals. The casino ceiling painted to look like a jungle canopy; the bars looked like a tree house complete with colorful jungle blooms and verdant waving fronds.

"What no Tarzan?" Dean asked with sarcasm.

DeClerque turned the chair back to the brothers, placing the remote on the desk." Funny," he said; his multiple chins vibrating with the motion. The one-sided lift of his small full-lipped mouth belied his words.

"Fascinating. You done with the show and tell?"Dean remarked asininely.

DeClerque ignored the remark. "The plans for the whole complex are drawn up and approved. I have a crew ready to break ground; it's costing me hundreds of thousands of dollars every day to keep them there. But I can't without Miss Hart's land."

"The only thing you're gonna break is that chair you're overflowing."

DeClerque's expression was now one of fury.

"I will have that land."

Dean gave a slight shake of his head. "Not gonna happen Jabba."

"Mr. Winchester," DeClerque said, an insincere smile that didn't reach his beady eyes trying to suppress his very obvious anger. Leaning back he took another draw on the cigar. "You obviously don't know me very well. You see Leopold DeClerque always gets what he wants."

Laying his hands flat on the desk Dean leaned forward across the wide desk. "Not anymore; you're not getting your sausage fingers on Amelia's land."

With that statement DeClerque's smile was gone, replaced by a look of intense hatred; he pushed himself laboriously to his feet and leaned forward, the two men now in each other's space, eyeball to eyeball. "You don't want to mess with me boy I'm a very powerful man."

"Let me tell you something blubber guts. I've met your type before. You may be fooling a whole lot of people but I can see right through you. I know what you are a lowlife, a bottom feeder, a cockroach; a ginormous one but a cockroach none the less. And believe this. You are not getting Amelia's land. So stay away from Amelia and don't send any more of your goons after her or you'll regret it."

"Is that a threat, boy?" DeClerque boomed his high voice deepening with anger and his ruddy face darkening to beet red. He looked like he was about to start frothing at the mouth.

Dean smiled. "No it's a promise, come on Sam let's get out of here this guy is making me sick."

Once back in the elevator Sam spoke for the first time since they had entered DeClerque's office. "Way to go Dean now he's really pissed off. And what's with giving him your real name?"

"The guys an asshole, Sam. Did you see the way that slug looked at us? Like we were dog shit on the sole of his Italian leather shoe."

"So what now, genius?"

"Plan B."

"But we don't have a plan B, Dean."

Dean smiled. "We do now."

"Wanna share with the class Dean?"

"You heard what he said he's got a dinner date with the mayor tonight."

"Yeah, so?"

"So while Jabba's wining and dining the mayor, guess where we're gonna be, Sammy?"

"Where?"

The elevator pinged announcing they were back in the lobby and the doors opened.

"At DeClerque's penthouse." Dean stepped out and started across the lobby.

"Huh, well it's a definite improvement on plan A." Sam observed the door started to close so Sam hurriedly scooted out following his retreating brother across the lobby.

- KITA -

After the tall green-eyed young man with the darkening bruise on his forehead and raw cut above his ear and his impossibly taller hazel-eyed shaggy-haired companion had strode back out the door they had burst through 3 minutes earlier DeClerque flopped down into his chair breathing hard he dragged a handkerchief the size of a small tablecloth out of his pocket patting at his sweaty, ruddy face.

Schmitt stood in the center of the room eyeing his employer and wringing his hands nervously.

"Do you know this… Winchester, Byron?"

"He was with Miss Hart yesterday."

"What do you know about him?"

"Nothing sir he had a set to with Bruno, he broke Bruno's nose."

"And you failed to tell me this?"

"I'm sorry I didn't think it was important."

"Everything connected to Miss Hart and her land is important Byron. Is Winchester going to be a problem?

"I…" Schmitt hesitated.

DeClerque's voice was low and dark. "The answer is no, Byron. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir perfectly clear, I'll take care of it immediately."

"You do that."

- KITA -

It was 7.40 pm. They were parked across the street from The Vista Apartment complex. Waiting for DeClerque to leave for his dinner date with the mayor.

Dean had the binoculars trained on the top floor, the penthouse. One or two lights could be seen in some of the windows of that and other apartments on the lower floors. Dean lowered the binoculars to the limo parked at the entrance. The limo that was waiting for DeClerque. The driver was leaning one hip against the back side panel of the big car talking with the muscle bound goon Bruno who to spite the coolness of the late fall evening was wearing no jacket or coat only jeans and a tight t-shirt similar to the one he had on the day before. _No brain no pain!_

Bruno had his back to them which was a pity because Dean would love to see the damage he had inflicted on the big man's face from their run in yesterday.

"I hate this plan Dean." Sam turned his head from the limo to look at Dean.

"I heard you the first 10 times you said it and besides I don't see you coming up with any ideas." Dean answered letting the binoculars fall to hang around his neck.

"What makes you think we're gonna find anything here?"

"Because DeClerque is arrogant."

Dean felt Sam roll his eyes. "So? Being arrogant is not illegal, Dean."

Dean glanced across the dark interior of the car at Sam. "True but that man is arrogant enough to think he'll never get found out."

Sam had to admit that Dean was right about that. "How does that help us?" I dunno maybe there is nothing to find out?

Dean looked back to the apartment entrance. "Oh there's something to be found I guarantee it. We both agree that Jabba is an arrogant SOB, right?

"Right."

"So if you were arrogant DeClerque where would you keep your skeletons?"

"I don't know… If I was stupid enough or arrogant enough I'd keep it where it's easily accessible but safe and away from prying eyes."

"Hidden in plain sight so to speak and where would the safest and most secure but easily accessible place be?"

Sam's face lit with understanding. "My apartment."

"Yahtzee!"

"You know there's gonna be security in there." Sam stated unnecessarily.

"Undoubtedly."

"What if we can't find anything?"

"Will you stop being so negative? We'll find something."

"I hope you're right?"

Dean brought the binoculars back up. _Me too, Sammy._

"Here we go." Dean said a minute later when DeClerque waddled out of the entrance of the brightly lit building his rotund body wrapped in a long dark coat.

Bruno and the driver straightened the driver pulling the door open for DeClerque. Bruno moved around the rear of the car. Dean got a glimpse of his red, swollen nose and bruised smudges under his eyes before he got into the front passenger side. A moment after the driver closed his door the engine started up and the big black car moved away down the sweeping driveway. The car turned out onto the street and before it had disappeared from view they were out of the Impala and moving back towards the trunk.

After gathering everything they thought they might need the brothers crossed the street walked across the driveway and up to the building's entrance.

Staying out of sight behind a pillar that edged the full length glass windows of the entrance Dean peered into the elaborate lobby. An elevator was opposite the window at the rear of the lobby off to one side a man sat behind a low desk; wearing a white shirt with a security company badge on the front pocket the guards head was down as he stared intently at the magazine open on the counter.

Dean pulled back around the pillar.

"Well?" Sam asked. When Dean didn't answer straight away he added. "There's a security guard isn't there?"

"Only one." Dean answered.

"I told you, what do we do now genius?"

"I've got an idea, follow my lead." Dean said pushing away from the pillar and walking through the sliding glass doors into the lobby.

The slight swoosh the sliding automatic doors made was like some kind of alert to the guard in one movement he straightened his chair pushing the magazine out of sight under the counter. He eyed the brothers as they crossed the short distance from the doors to where he sat.

"Can I help you?" He said looking from one to the other.

"Well shoot I sure hope so; we just came in from Kentucky we're looking for our cousin." Dean said with an exaggerated southern drawl.

Sam shot Dean a: _you've got to be kidding me? _Look.

"You think your cousin's here at the Vista?" The guard said surprised. As if it was the remotest possibility.

Dean began searching around in his pockets, what he was looking for Sam had no idea, he was as curious as the guard seemed to be.

"Where's that bit 'o paper she gave me, oh here it is," Dean pulled out a crumbled piece of paper that looked to Sam like a gas receipt only because it was a gas receipt. Dean straightened it out keeping the written side hidden from the guard and began reading off it.

The words that Dean said weren't, _"10 gallons at pump No. 3' _but instead…"She 'rit down the address The Vista Apartments Dallas."

"She did? What's her surname?"

"She just got hitched her married name … umm forgit the name kin you remember her new husband's name Jethro?" Dean said looking at Sam a wicked glint of amusement sparkling in his green eyes.

Sam gave him a withering glare. _2 can play at that game Dean_. "Nope kin't recall Elroy." Sam answered.

Dean smiled at Sam's input into his ruse. "I thunk it dun begined with a Dee or a Gee or maybe it was a Pee?"

"Well there's The Grant's on 8."

"Grant like the presadint hmm, no that ain' it."

Sam could see Dean was having way too much fun with this. And to his surprise he found smiling, admitting to himself he was enjoying it too.

"The Pierson's they're on 5, but-"

"Pierson theyt sounds kinda familya." Dean said pointing a finger at the guard.

"Are you sure? The Pierson's are in their 70's, they didn't, I mean at least I don't think they just got married."

This gem of information made Sam smile. _Let's see you get out of this Dean._

"Will they din't like to tell no one cuz it's the second time 'round."

"Oh I see. I guess it will be alright, they're in apartment 502," the guard picked up the telephone, "I'll let them know you're here."

"No don't do that," Dean's accent slipped momentarily but the man didn't seem to notice, "Jethro and me we… want to surprise 'em in't that right Jethro?" Dean smiled.

Sam returned it. And Dean could see he was enjoying this as much as he was.

"Yeah thit's right Elroy, a surprise."

The story had holes in it big enough to drive a Mack truck through; but the guard didn't seem to notice. He put the phone back in the cradle, looked between the brothers saying with a co spiritual smile.

"Okay, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, take the elevator 5th floor."

- KITA -

The guard watched them from behind the desk as they entered the elevator. As the doors closed he pulled the magazine out from under the counter.

The button marked 5 lit up when Sam hit the button; he noted as he did so that the penthouse floor button had a lock on it.

The elevator door slid closed. From a speaker in the ceiling the high-pitched strains of pan pipes elevator Muzak floated around them.

Sam stabbed at the button marked PH knowing even as he did so that it wouldn't register. Sure enough the button refused to light up. "Need a key; the Penthouse floor has a lock on it."

Sam was already reaching into his pocket for the lock pick when Dean answered.

"You brought the lock pick?"

Sam bent over the buttons inserting the 2 parts of the pick into the keyhole. "Follow my lead." He said mimicking Dean's earlier remark. " Nice one Elroy."

"Ahh come on Jethro you enjoyed it as much as I did."

The door opened onto the fifth floor.

"Can't believe he fell for it."

The lock clicked as it turned over. Sam straightened pressing the penthouse button; this time it lit up and the door slid closed. Sam shoved the lock pick set back into his pocket.

"It was a pretty good story on the spur of the moment." Dean picked up the conversation.

"Not the story, Elroy. The accent."

"What was wrong with my accent?"

Sam ignored the remark, asking, "Think he'll notice that we went to the penthouse floor?"

"Nah he was itching to get back to the skin mag he had under the counter."

"Trust you to see it was a skin mag."

"What can I say? It's a skill born from many years of experience."

"Yeah right?"

Less than a minute later the doors slid open directly onto a short arched hallway a set of double solid wooden doors across the short distance that led into the penthouse. The electronic keypad lock on the wall beside the doors looked out of place.

Dean bent over the keypad prized the front away with his pocket knife. He examined the colored wires and in a similar amount of time it had taken Sam to pick the elevator lock the red light onto top the keypad clicked and turned green.

Sam turned the handle on the closest door and it swung inwards. Sam flicked on the lights.

DeClerque's penthouse was a surprise compared to the cheesy jungle themed casino he'd shown them in his office. It was stylish and tastefully decorated.

"So Jabba's taste doesn't totally suck," Dean remarked, surprised.

They crossed from the entrance into the penthouse. A galley style kitchen with a long island counter top pots and pans dangled above. A dining suite situated beside it was tucked in to the left of the steps. A good sized bar stood against the wall next to the kitchen its mirror backed shelves well stocked with quality liquor. The lounge area floor was covered in a deep shag pile rug. The large room ended with 2 glass floor to ceiling French doors which opened onto a deep balcony that overlooked the Dallas skyline.

Off to their right a small set of highly polished wooden stairs led to the rest of the apartment. At the top of the stairs enclosed by a balustrade was a large glass topped computer desk with a state of the art 17 inch laptop computer and leather computer chair strategically placed to make the most of the view from the huge window it overlooked on the other side of the apartment. A large filing cabinet stood against the wall to the right. To the left of the office area was a hallway which must lead to the bed and bathroom.

"You take the computer and I'll find the safe," Dean said indicating the raised area.

Sam mounted the stairs and went to the file. Opening the all the draws he flipped through the files. Finding nothing incriminating in the files he settled himself at the computer in the large chair. Shuffling through the pile of papers on the desk as he waited for the computer to boot up. Just some kind of business proposal papers but it seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Sam wasn't surprised to find that the computer was password protected.

Dean prowled the kitchen, dining, lounge and bar area looking for the safe he had convinced himself DeClerque had. A few minutes later having checked everywhere and behind everything including DeClerque's multiple artworks he mounted the stairs and lent over Sam's shoulder frowning at the computer screen.

"Anything?" Sam asked as he entered the fiftieth password and got the same message: _password incorrect._

"Nothing so far," Dean said, you?" he added.

"I'm still trying to crack the password,"

Dean straightened, "Keep at it sparky,"

Sam typed in another password and sighed as the same message flashed up.

Dean moved away down the passage. There were 3 doors off the hall. 2 on the right and 1 facing him at the far end of the hallway. The first room, a bedroom perhaps a guest bedroom revealed nothing. The second a bathroom was as large as 2 of some of the motel rooms that he and Sam had stayed in. Nothing there either. The door at the end opened up onto one of the biggest bedrooms Dean had ever seen. A king-sized canopied bed at the center of the room. More glass doors opened onto a balcony that faced the same way as the computer area. An on-suite bathroom was to the right of the windows. The walls as with the other rooms were filled with large and small artworks.

It was the about the 90th try that Sam cracked the password and it was so simple he chastised himself for not trying it earlier. It was DeClerque's initials and birth date _ladc110951_. From the desktop he opened up the files and documents but found nothing of interest there. Opening the pictures folder he found photos of DeClerque with various people most of them from their attire appeared to be business acquaintances or potential business partners. There were others of DeClerque lying on a sun lounge beside what looked like a hotel pool wearing a floral shirt a drink of some sort very tropical looking served in a pineapple with one of those little umbrella's added for good measure in one chubby hand and of course a stogie in the other.

It was here Dean found the safe behind the painting on the wall opposite the bed. Dean slid his fingers around the edge of the frame where it met the wall his fingertips picking out the well concealed hinges. He pulled the other side of the painting outwards revealing the safe behind it.

"Yahtzee!"

Putting his ear close to the cold metal he began to twist the knob slowly listening for the combination.

Sam sighed in frustration closing down the picture files he had open on the screen. He'd scoured the computer and come up empty-handed nothing incriminating there. He only had the desk draws left to search; _I hope Dean's having better luck? _The top 2 contained miscellaneous stuff that was found in most desk draws across the country and the third was locked. _Could mean something?_ Using his lock pick he had the draw open in moments. The contents were what appeared to be 3 blank DVD's, picking up the top one Sam took the disk out of the case and put into the computer. The media player opened up and when play disk prompt popped up Sam clicked play and the disk started to play.

The last tumbler clicked into place. Dean twisted the handle and pulled the solid metal door open. The safe contained lots of buff colored envelopes. Gathering them in his arms he dumped them on the bed and began tipping the contents out. The first contained a passport Dean flipped through it seemed DeClerque hadn't done a lot of travelling in the last year. _Too busy buying up all the land in Oklahoma. _The second was DeClerque's will; the others contained deeds and some other legal documents that meant nothing to him. The contents of the second to last envelope were heavy and contained a stack of hundred dollars bills. Dean helped himself to a dozen or so. The last envelope was also heavy and worn like its contents were perused often; tipping the envelope up a stack of 8 by 10inch glossy full color photo's cascaded across the bed.

Sam ejected the DVD and slammed the lid of the computer down he couldn't watch one more second. The disgusting filth in the horrifying images burned into his memory had left him feeling quite ill.

DeClerque raping, torturing and murdering young boys. The one of the boys would have to be only around 12 years old his eyes were wide and terrified. He was gagged and bound face down with leather straps to the posts of a wide canopied bed a hassock under his stomach forcing his small pale buttocks upward for easy access. DeClerque stood naked on the bed behind him his bloated body quivering engorged cock bobbing obscenely a smile of cruel delight at the small muffled whimpering sounds coming from the boy. DeClerque knelt down between the boys legs pulled his buttocks apart and forced his cock into the boy. The child screamed in agony behind the gag DeClerque pumped in and out of the boy grunting like a pig every time he pushed into the boy's small body.

Sickness rising in his throat Sam sensed movement behind him glancing over his shoulder he was looking straight at the butt of a gun a second before it connected heavily with his forehead. His world turned white hot with pain and then there was nothing.

Dean picked up the photo on top of the scattered pile he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His hand began to shake with anger and horror.

"I so didn't want to see this, Jabba you're one sick, depraved bastard,"

Dropping the photo back onto the bed he sifted through the photos splayed out across the bed they were all of similar vein. DeClerque naked in all his disgusting glory doing disgusting things to young boys. Boys of 12 or 13 bound to the very bed he was standing over. Some of the photo's showed DeClerque whipping the boys and in others he was strangling them with garrote wire. The worst of all leaving Dean feeling queasy DeClerque sodomizing the boy's pale, lifeless bodies the garrote wire still embedded in their bloody throats.

Hurriedly Dean began stuffing the photos back into the envelope. This was the evidence they were looking for the skeleton in DeClerque's closet. So distracted by the memories of those heinous pictures ingrained in his mind's eye he never heard or even sensed someone enter the room behind him.

At the click of a gun being cocked he spun around to face the threat dropping the half-filled envelope and pulling his Colt .45 out of his waistband in the same motion, pointing it at the new comer.

Bruno filled the doorway his eyes glittering with hatred over the top of the bruises beneath the giant's nose swollen. His sausage were fingers wrapped around the .45 pointed at Dean.

Dean smiled, "Bruno!" Dean said like he was greeting an old friend, "I see I improved your good looks," he added sarcastically.

Bruno growled, "Still got a smart mouth boy? I'm gonna' smack it out of you,"

Dean gave a laugh of derision at the big man's words, "Good luck with that."

"Or then again I could just shoot you," Bruno answered gesturing with the gun in his hand.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Bruno smiled. Or maybe it was grimace? On this guy's face it was hard to tell the difference. Then the big man clicked the safety on and tucked the gun into the front of the jeans.

Following Bruno's lead Dean did the same pushing the Colt into the waistband at his back.

With a snarl and surprising speed Bruno rushed at him smashed his full body weight into his chest forcing him backwards into the wall.

The impact stunned Dean. He groaned as the air evacuated his lungs in a rush, his Colt digging painfully into the small of his back. _That's gonna' leave a mark! _The dry wall cracked under the onslaught of the two bodies showering them both with plaster.

Bruno snarled in his face a split second before he let fly with a wicked forearm to his jaw that smacked his teeth together sending pain shooting up into his temples. Dazed from the contact with the wall and the blow to his face Dean was momentarily stunned. Bruno pressed his advantage pushing his ham sized muscled forearm hard against Dean's throat and windpipe making it difficult to draw a breath into his already oxygen starved lungs. With his hands trapped in between their bodies and his eyesight already dimming Dean knew he had to do something fast or he would lose consciousness.

"You got nothing boy I'm gonna' beat the snot outta' you,"

With as much strength as his failing body would allow he lifted his knee into Bruno's groin. Bruno doubled over with a gasp stumbling away from Dean.

Free from the crushing weight and able to breathe again Dean drew in a reviving breath and then followed through with an uppercut to Bruno's already bruised face. The momentum had Bruno flying backwards the back of his knees caught on the edge of the mattress his flailing arms catching in the canopy he toppled back onto the bed his oversized body tangled in the canopy he bounced once before he lay still.

Dean moved to the bed standing over the big man breathing hard he said low and dangerous, "I wouldn't call that nothing."

He looked up from Bruno as Sam stumbled into the doorway to stand leaning against the door frame. Dean's stomach turned at the sight of a thin trickle of blood snaking down his brother's forehead from a bruise already forming just below his hairline.

Sam wasn't sure what was going on. Had he fallen asleep at the computer his cheek mashed against the table after drinking a bottle of Bobby's cheap rotgut?_ Because my head hurts like a bitch and I'm pretty sure I'm not lying down?_

With a moan he lifted his head from the table blinked to clear his vision and found he was looking out of a window onto a night city skyline, "Dallas," he mumbled to himself.

Then he remembered the flash of pain followed by darkness courtesy of the butt of a gun and his thoughts flew to his brother, "Dean," pushing himself up and out of the chair he heard a crash and a voice say, "You got nothing boy I'm gonna' beat the snot outta' you," Sam staggered along the hallway, towards the voice emanating from the open doorway at the end, he heard the familiar sounds of a fight; flesh meeting flesh. Quickening his pace and using the wall for support he moved closer. Movement from inside the room as a man's body flew past the doorway and out of sight and then he saw Dean as he stepped into sight. Silhouetted in the doorway, Dean was breathing hard he looked down and said his tone full of menace, "I wouldn't call that nothing."

Finally reaching the room he leaned against the door frame. Dean lifted his eyes and he looked at Sam a worried frown creased his forehead for a moment and then in a flash he was at Sam's side one hand on Sam's arm for support and the other cupping his jaw his green eyes examining his face. 

"I'm okay Dean," Sam said adding, "Why'd he come back?"

"I don't know but I found evidence against DeClerque, a heap of photo's, the sick fuck," Dean's tone contemptuous with disgust.

"I found something as well," Sam said, adding, "DVD's, Dean what he did to those boys."

"Well he won't be doing it any more Sammy we got enough to send him to the death row, come on let's get outta here before our friend here wakes up."

Leaving Sam listing to starboard in the doorway Dean went to the bed stuffing the rest of the incriminating photos back into the envelope. He had to pull a few out from under Bruno's body. Then he took Sam's elbow and they made their way back to the computer desk Sam picked up and handed Dean all the DVD's and Dean added them to the envelope and they left.

Dean gave the security guard a brief nod as they crossed the lobby shielding Sam from view so the guard didn't see Sam's bloody face and get suspicious as to what they'd been up to. A visit with relatives didn't usually end up bloody.

A short time later they were in the Impala Dean started the engine putting her in drive. He glanced at Sam who was dabbing at his forehead with a blue and white handkerchief.

Sensing Dean's eyes on him, Sam said, "I'm fine Dean."

"Hey that's my line," Dean said with amusement, adding as he pulled away from the curb, so Sammy… what'd you think of plan B?"

_**To be continued…**_

I hope it was worth the wait. I would love it if you took a few moments to leave a review?

Thanks for reading.

_Silvertayl 57_


	11. Chapter 11

**KNIGHT IN TARNISHED ARMOR**

**Disclaimer and Story Summary:**

See Chapter 1

**Beta:**

_Msokiedokie_

**Chapter Notes:**

Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. I'm very pleased that the long wait didn't stop you from reading and reviewing. Which brings us to chapter 11 and the last chapter of Knight in Tarnished Armor. Enjoy!

**Chapter 11:**** Just Deserts**

Leopold DeClerque was angry. No he was more than angry he was furious, apprehensive and yes he admitted it frightened; frightened of what The Winchesters would do with the damning information they now held in their grubby hands. He hadn't been frightened since… he couldn't remember when. It was their entire fault. First they had road blocked his casino plans championing that stubborn spinster Amelia Hart. They had the nerve to come to his office and told him so. Then and this was the frightening thing they had broken into his apartment to spite the security the management sprouted as the best in all of Texas and taken his most cherished possessions and it was those very things that could end everything for him.

In his haste to not be late for his dinner date with longtime friend, business partner and Dallas newly elected Mayor Julian Tate he'd left the proposal papers for his next business venture that Julian had expressed an interest in being a part of on the desk in his apartment.

He'd sent Bruno back to the apartment in the Limo with his chauffer to pick up the proposal and bring them to the restaurant. An hour after Bruno had gone and half way through an excellent spaghetti marinara his cell phone rang. Leo's chauffer's tinny, strained voice came down the line. The apartment had been broken into and who ever had been there had knocked Bruno out cold.

"Sir what do you want me to do? Should I call the police?" He finished.

Leo's guts twisted, "No, no don't do anything until I get there."

Disconnecting the phone without listening to the chauffer's reply he wiped remnants of the marinara from his mouth with a tablecloth sized napkin, pushed up and away from the table, "I'm sorry Julian something has come up that needs my immediate attention."

Julian had stammered confused by his friends sudden change of demeanor, "Of course," before Leo turned away Julian added, "Leo, anything I can do?"

Leo ignored Julian's question. "I'll call you tomorrow and reschedule, dinner's on me."

Leo had told Gino to give the mayor anything he wanted and to put it on his tab. Then he hurried as fast as he could out onto the street and hailed a passing cab. He speed dialed Byron. He answered curtly after 2 rings.

"Yes sir,"

"Meet me at the apartment now," He growled down the line.

15 minutes later the cab pulled up behind his limo parked in front of his apartment building. He threw some money in the direction of the cab driver and struggled out of the cab through the doors and into the foyer brushing off the security guard who said something to him that Leo took no notice of as he hurried into the elevator.

His own heavy breathing combined with his heartbeat pounding in his ears blocked out the music piping through the elevator.

What he found in the apartment made his blood run cold. He ignored the chauffer and Bruno who was seated at the kitchen table with an ice pack pressed against his jaw going straight up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom noting as he hurried past his office the overturned chair and the opened draw that he always kept locked.

The room was a mess the safe was open and its contents were strewn across the bed the canopy lying across it. The plaster of the wall opposite the door was cracked and broken. Shoving the fallen canopy aside he searched through the envelopes looking for one in particular. It was the only one missing.

Puffing from his exertions his face covered in sweat and beet red he went back down the hall to the computer desk the contents of the open draw were gone. He slammed the draw shut with a furious growl.

"Sir?"

Leo turned towards the enquiring voice. Byron stood standing in the apartment doorway; his long tailored coat clung to his small frame. Leo noticed that it was buttoned up wrong in his haste to answer his employer's summoning. He was running his leather gloves through his hand nervously.

"The safe has been broken into. The DVD's and the photos are missing," DeClerque said to Byron.

The words Byron was about to speak were cut off by Bruno, "Mr. DeClerque sir it was those two from the other day," Bruno said pulling the ice pack away from his swollen reddened jaw, "They were here when I arrived to pick up the papers you asked for."

Byron looked at Bruno, "What two? Not the two at Amelia Hart's?"

"Yeah them two." Bruno answered placing the ice pack back against his jaw.

Byron looked from Bruno back to Mr. DeClerque, "The Winchester's."

DeClerque's voice was low and filled with barely suppressed fury, "Winchester? You were supposed to take care of that. How could you let this happen?"

"I was I am, I… I'm sorry sir." Byron replied.

"Do you have any idea what this could mean? It could spell the end of everything I've worked for," His eyes like black beads pinned Byron, "Find them. NOW!"

- KITA -

When the Impala's powerful engine shut off Sam opened his eyes sitting up from where he was slumped against the cool glass of the passenger side window.

"We stopping?" he asked glancing at Dean across the car's dim interior.

His brother looked tired and drawn in the neon light spilling into the car from the vacancy sign of the hotel he'd pulled up in front of.

Looking across Sam at the hotel reception office Dean answered, "We can't do anything more tonight, besides I don't know about you but I'm beat and I want to fix your head," Dean answered, eyes drifting to the still weeping cut on Sam's head.

"I told you I'm fine Dean it's not even bleeding anymore," Sam said dabbing at the still weeping cut with the blood stained handkerchief. He looked at the handkerchief, adding, "Well not much."

"Sam you were unconscious, you might have concussion. I need to keep an eye on you. You know the rules," Dean stated as he got out of the car. He closed the door with the familiar squeak of hinges then leaned in through the open window. "Don't move until I get back," he ordered before he rounded the front of the car heading into the office.

Sam watched Dean through the window as talked with the man at the reception desk, organizing them a room.

He hadn't quite told the truth about being fine. He had a doozy of a headache centering behind the split skin over the swelling on his forehead. And knew Dean had to be tired and sore from their latest encounter with Bruno and Co.

After booking a room Dean had returned to the car, pulling open Sam's door he took his elbow and helped him out escorting him through the hotel foyer to the elevator. He handed him the room key card and more or less ordered him to go up the room on the third floor.

"What about you?" Sam asked as Dean turned back to the hotel entrance.

"I'm gonna park the car and get our stuff. Just go on up I won't be long,"

Dean parked the Impala in the parking basement threw a few things into the weapons bag and grabbed both his and Sam's duffle's along with Sam's laptop bag and the bulging buff envelope before taking the elevator up to the third floor. Sam had left the door unlocked and open wide enough for Dean to enter without having to use the door handle.

Sam was sitting on the bed furthest from the door; minus his jacket, shirt and shoes. He had the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He pulled them away looking up at Dean when he entered.

Dean's eyebrows pulled down in a worried frown, "Headache?"

"Oh yeah." Sam answered truthfully.

An hour later by the order of his big brother Sam was lying on his bed, eyes closed against the pain still thrumming through his head, finger tips massaging his temples. Dean had cleaned the cut and taped a square of gauze over the broken skin, but the headache hadn't diminished; if anything it was worse.

"You know they're gonna' come looking for us." Sam stated unnecessarily.

He heard the bathroom faucet turn on briefly and then off again before Dean's answer came to him from the bathroom, "I'm counting on it."

Eyes still closed Sam frowned at Dean's response, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Here take these," Dean's voice was now much closer.

Sam opened his eyes. Dean was standing over him with a glass of water in one hand and 2 capsules in the other. Sam noted with concern the pinched look and tiredness around Dean's eyes the new bruises forming across Dean's throat and jaw overlapping the fading ones from 2 days ago. It had only been a bit over a week since his brother had been in an explosion almost drowned in the creek had a major fever from infection, bashed on the head with a rock and then beaten up by three of DeClerque's thugs. And Dean was worried about him with a bump on the head and headache.

Sam examined the pills suspiciously, "What are they?"

"Tylenol, take 'em," Dean answered.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"I'm good… just tired is all," Dean answered, rubbing at his eyes with the sides of his index fingers.

Sam sat up looking at him critically before downing the capsules with half the water. He then placed the glass on the nightstand in between the beds.

Dean sat down on the side of the other bed facing Sam. Untying his boots he toed them off then tipped sideways lying down on his side with an exhausted groan his feet still on the floor.

Dean was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow of the still made bed.

Sam smiled and not wanting to wake him whispered, "So much for keeping an eye on me."

In this last ten days Sam had come close to losing him yet again and had actually thought him dead for a horrifying few of those days. He didn't want to go through that again. He couldn't lose him not now not ever. Those dark days were like a nightmare and still vivid in his mind. He lost his anchor, his rock, his constant. And now that Dean was beside him again it just felt right. It hadn't taken long to get back in their old routine side by side fighting evil in whatever guise it presented itself at the moment the guise was human.

Sam stood looking down at his battered and bruised sleeping brother. Memorizing ever feature. After a couple of minutes he lifted Dean's legs onto the bed. Dean immediately rolled onto his stomach pushing his hand under the pillow. After Dean had settled again Sam pulled the comforter around him cocooning him in it as best as he could with Dean lying on top of it before going back to his own bed. The Tylenol was kicking in taking the edge off his headache bringing it down to a manageable level. Pulling his own comforter up to his chest he settled back to sleep. He was drifting off when a thought came to him. Dean hadn't answered his question when Sam had asked him what he'd meant by, _"I'm counting on it."_

- KITA -

When Sam woke his headache had all but gone and Dean's bed was empty. He could sense that Dean wasn't in the room. Sure enough he keys to The Impala and the bulging envelope containing the photos and DVD's were gone from the table where Dean had thrown them last night. In their place was a note.

Sammy,

_Taking care of some stuff. I'll bring back food. _

_Dean._

Sam scratched at the back of his head and glanced at his watch he was surprised to see it was after 9 he'd slept for almost 10 hours. He wondered how long Dean had been gone.

After he was showered and dressed Dean hadn't returned so Sam booted up the laptop taking advantage of the hotel's free WIFI. At least he could do some research while Dean was out. He hacked into the Dallas police department's missing person's records. He didn't need the photos or tapes to remember the faces of those boys they were burned into his memory. He went back to 1988 the year DeClerque arrived in The US. It was in 1994 that the first of the faces he recognized came up.

Which Sam calculated meant that DeClerque had been doing this for 18 years possibly longer. All of the boys he'd seen in the DVD's and photos and many more that weren't were listed as missing.

A lot of the boys were thought to be runaways, others street kids and child prostitutes and a few were from good homes and families. None of the boys or their bodies had ever been found.

He heard the key card in the lock. The door opened and Dean backed in juggling a cardboard tray with takeout coffee in one hand paper bags in the other and the key card in the other and the envelope tucked under his right arm. A savory smell wafted from the bags to Sam making his mouth water. He was hungry.

"Where you been? Sam asked shutting the lid of the lap top as Dean turned and kicked the door shut then put everything filling his arms on the table next to Sam.

"Taking care of DeClerque," Dean answered as he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it in the direction of the table as he crossed the room it landed on top of the stolen envelope pulling his colt from the waistband of his jeans dropping it on the bed as he stood in front of Sam.

"How?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean.

"First things first I'm starving. I bought Chinese," Dean said going into the bathroom.

Sam opened up the bags and peered inside before taking the containers out and laying them on the table. He heard the faucet turn on and the splashing of water.

Opening up the container of fried rice he dug the plastic spoon into it, "You've been gone all morning."

"Well it takes time to arrange the demise of a perverted sicko like DeClerque Sammy."

"While you were out I did some research. I think he's been doing this for a long time 18 years at least," Sam said as he peeled the lid off of some beef chow mein. Glancing over his shoulder at Dean, face dripping with water stopped in the bathroom doorway holding a beige hand towel.

"Yeah, why doesn't that surprise me?" He said as he patted dry his face before he began drying his hands as he turned disappearing into the bathroom.

There was a knock on the door. Sam dropped the chops sticks he was in the process of unwrapping and stood going to the door. Unlocking it he turned the handle pulling open the door for a moment he was looking into the barrel of a silencer a split second before it descended swiftly colliding with his forehead.

Dean heard the knock and Sam unlocking the door and then nothing. Dropping the towel onto the vanity he moved back towards the bedroom, "Sammy who is-"

The room seemed to be full of people. His eyes going first to Sam who lay on the carpet opposite the door and in between the table and the beds. His eyes were shut and he wasn't moving.

Bruno and the other 2 thugs they'd encountered at Amelia's crowded the room inside the doorway. One of them had a 38 pointed directly at Sam where he lay on the floor. Bruno's and the other thug's pistols were aimed in his direction. All the weapons had silencers attached. Bruno was smiling.

"What did you do to my brother?"

"Nothing much… yet. He's taking a little nap."

"If you hurt him I'll kill you," Dean's voice was full of menace. His eyes slid from Sam to the bed where his .45 lay well out of his reach and much closer to Bruno and co.

Seeing Dean's eyes fall briefly on the Colt his smile widened, "Go on give me a reason."

Byron who's much smaller frame had been hidden behind the 3 hulks filling the room closed the hotel door and stepped in between Bruno and the third thug.

"Any time."

Byron spoke for the first time, "No Bruno."

"Yeah Bruno down boy." Dean ducked his head looking at Bruno's red, swollen jaw, "How's the jaw by the way?"

Bruno took a menacing step towards Dean.

Byron stopped him, "Bruno I said no, now back off."

"Better do what the man says," Dean said angering the big man even further.

"I owe this bastard and Mr. DeClerque said he wants him taken care of. Let me do it I'll wipe that smug smile off his face for good."

"You do as I say," Byron said looking up at the big man.

Surprisingly Bruno did as he asked.

Byron turned back to face Dean, "How'd you find us?" Dean asked.

"It was just luck that Karl here spotted you coming out of the Chinese takeout," Byron indicated the man holding the pistol on Sam.

"Mr. DeClerque is very, very angry with you. You took something of his and he wants it back."

"Your boss is a sick, twisted, murdering pedophile and that evidence is gonna bring him to justice," Dean paused for a second, "No you're not getting it back." He added with small shake of his head.

"You give it to me or… your brother gets a bullet between the eyes, Karl," Byron answered.

Karl moved forward a step leaned down and pressed the silencer against Sam's temple.

Dean had no doubt that they would go through with the threat and Sam's life for some photos? There was no contest, "Alright on the table, take them and leave."

Byron went to the table where the buff envelope was hidden by Dean's jacket. Pushing the jacket aside he tipped the contents onto the table. Once satisfied it was all there he stuffed it back into the envelope.

Sam was beginning to stir his eyelashes fluttered, his head rolled on the carpet.

"If you want to keep on breathing I suggest you leave town and don't come back. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Dean replied.

"Let's go." Byron said turning, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

"You gonna let em go?" Bruno said frowning, "Mr. DeClerque wants 'em dead."

"And I said let's go."

Karl lifted the gun away from Sam's head before he and the still nameless thug backed out the door leaving Bruno facing off with Dean.

"Your master is calling Bruno, off you go like a good little boy."

Bruno took a step towards Dean his face flushed with anger.

"Bruno!" Byron's voice called from outside the doorway.

With one last hate filled look Bruno turned and followed the others out into the hallway.

In a heartbeat Dean was at Sam's side, he placed his palm against Sam's cheek and patted it gently, "Sam, Sammy."

Sam's lashes fluttered and opened. His hazel eyes focused on Dean's concerned face above him,

"Ow." He said blinking.

"Your head again huh? How does it you feel? Dean asked.

"Like it got pistol whipped for the second time in 24 hours," Sam answered, his fingertips going to the rapidly darkening circular spot on his head beside the bandage, "Hurts." He added in a small voice.

"Looks like it missed the stitches. Lucky for you you've got a hard head."

"That's very helpful… thanks." Sam said as Dean helped him to a sitting position, "How'd they find us so soon?"

"Saw me coming out of the Chinese." Dean replied with a hint of a smile.

Sam's eyes went from his brother's face to the open door and then to the table. Seeing the envelope was no longer on the table he tried to struggle to his feet.

Dean's hand on his shoulder stopped Sam from rising, "Whoa there tiger I gotta make sure you're alright."

"Dean I'm fine. They took it. We can't let them go."

"Yeah we can."

"No. We can't."

"Yes we can."

Sam looked at Dean exasperated, "Dean this is getting us now where, man. Why are you just letting them go? We've got nothing to bring him down."

"Sam trust me DeClerque is taken care of. He's never going to hurt another human being ever again."

It was then part of the conversation he and Dean had last night came to the forefront of Sam's mind. _"You know they're gonna' come looking for us,"_ And Dean's answer, _"I'm counting on it."_ "Wait you wanted them to find us. Dean tell me what's going on or I'm going to beat it out of you?"

"It will be a cold day in hell when that happens Sammy boy." A custom Dean Winchester smirk crossed his face.

- KITA -

More than 24 hours had gone by since Byron, Bruno and Co. had stolen back the evidence against DeClerque and Sam was annoyed big time. And as always it was because of Dean. He had refused to tell him anything about where he'd been yesterday morning, why he'd let DeClerque's goons purposely find them and why they were here.

Sam swallowed another mouthful of coffee, "What are we doing here Dean? This is crazy cuz in case you failed to notice this is DeClerque's office building?" Sam said annoyed, "What are we waiting for huh?" He stared daggers at Dean, who shoved the last piece of his third iced donut into mouth, "Dean!"

It was late afternoon and they were sitting in the lounge area outside the coffee shop in the lobby of Rosewood Court. And they'd been here for nearly 2 hours.

"Patience Sammy, patience," Dean answered licking the sticky icing from his fingertips, "all will be revealed."

Sam's less than flattering reply was cut off when Dean sat forward looking over Sam's shoulder towards the entrance, "Here we go. It's show time."

Sam twisted in his seat and saw two men in suits and coats striding with purpose and authority towards the security point. Sam instantly knew they were police or detectives by their baring. In a seemingly choreographed move they simultaneously pulled badges from their inner pockets and flashed them at the security guards. After exchanging a few words with the guards they passed through the checkpoint the metal detector went off causing all eyes to turn to the men as they strode across the foyer passing by the brothers on their way to the elevator.

As the doors slid closed Sam looked at Dean, "Detectives? What are they doing here?"

Dean grinned lifting his hands in front of him he splayed them out and away from to either side of his body mimicking a headline banner, "Watch this space."

Less than 10 minutes later the doors opened and DeClerque was escorted out a detective on either side out they marched him across the foyer of his own building. DeClerque's hands were cuffed behind him. Dean thought he looked even more like Jabba the Hut as he protested loudly, multiple chins wobbling, "Do you know who I am? I'll have your badges for this."

His eyes landed on the brothers as he passed where they were seated his shocked flushed, sweaty face turned redder with anger when Dean flicked him a 2 fingered salute off his temple.

After DeClerque was hustled past the shocked people in the lobby and out through the doors onto the street disappearing from view. Sam turned to his brother.

Dean was smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary, "You did this?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"You wanted to know what I was doing yesterday morning. Well I found an internet café in Dallas scanned all the photos into a computer, uploaded the videos and put it all onto flash drives. I sent one to the police crime squad and one to the Dallas Morning News."

"But why did you let DeClerque's goons find us when we had the evidence we needed? All we had to do was hang onto it."

"Because when the police searched DeClerque's apartment they would have found the video's and photos, there'd be no doubt that the stuff on the flash drives is genuine and not photo shopped or manipulated in some way. The story should headline the evening edition of Dallas Morning News, which in itself is a contradiction for a newspaper that calls itself the Morning News."

Sam nodded his head in approval, "So you did want them to find us?

"Yes Sammy I was as conspicuous as possible." Dean answered.

"Very clever. You think that up all your own?"

"I've told you before Sammy, you don't have go to college to be a genius."

"Shut up jerk." Sam said with a warm affectionate smile.

"Hey think DeClerque might lose a few pounds in the slammer."

"I don't know about that but he'll most probably get the death sentence for what he's done." Sam speculated.

"Just deserts, Sammy just deserts," Dean said thoughtfully. Rising from the chair he added well naturedly, "Hitch up your skirt Samantha and let's get going. But first I'm gonna get some more of those delicious iced donuts… for the road."

"Speaking of just deserts. If you keep on eating those you'll soon be as big as DeClerque." Sam answered.

"Me? Never… good metabolism."

- KITA -

The sun was sitting low just above the western horizon. The tall buildings of the Dallas CBD emptying of workers at the end of another business day cast long shadows across the teeming streets as the brothers made their way back to The Impala.

Later Sam had stepped out to pick up food and a copy of The Dallas Morning News at a newsstand a block away from the hotel.

Sitting at the end of the bed Dean flicked on the TV. A commercial for Budweiser filled the screen it was followed by a car insurance commercial fading from the screen the Dallas evening news returned. In the bottom left corner of the screen was the station logo KDAF-33 beside that a scrolling news bar ran in a loop. The newscaster a middle-aged woman with hair an impossibly unnaturally shade of red and a high pitched nasal voice grinned toothily out of the screen:

"_Welcome back to channel 33 evening news. _

_Reviewing our lead story. _

_South African born Dallas businessman Leopold DeClerque was arrested this afternoon. _

_A Dallas police spokesman said Mr. DeClerque was taken into police custody after evidence from an anonymous source was submitted to the police department and further investigation uncovered evidence at Mr. DeClerque's luxury Dallas apartment. _

_DeClerque has been charged with sexual intercourse of a minor without consent and more charges are likely to be laid for the disappearance and suspected murder of approximately 23 male youths aged from 12 to16._

_Business partner and friend of Mr. DeClerque Mayor Julian Tate made a statement earlier this evening in which he said he was shocked by the allegations leveled at Mr. DeClerque. _

_At this stage Mayor Tate is not a suspect in any wrong doing. And we'll have more on this story as details come to hand. In other news-"_

Dean flicked off the TV as the door opened and Sam came in carrying a plastic bag with takeout containers inside and a folded newspaper tucked under his arm.

As he closed the door behind him Sam said."You were right."

"About?" Dean asked.

"About everything," Sam answered; placing the bag on the table he pulled the paper out from under his arm and spun it across the room in Dean's direction.

Dean caught the paper against his chest, "Yeah, I just saw the evening news," unfolding the paper he studied the front page.

Splashed across the evening edition was: HIGH PROFILE LOCAL BUSINESSMAN ARRESTED ON SUSPICION OF PEDOPHILIA AND MURDER.

The paper was sprouting about how they broke the story after receiving information from an anonymous source. The story wasn't the only thing Dean had been right about. The police had found the photos and videos at DeClerque's apartment after they also received information which had subsequently led to the South African expatriate's arrest.

"What did you get, I'm starving." Dean said. Standing he threw the paper onto the bed came over to the table.

Sam was taking colorful boxes and plastic containers from the plastic bag and placing them on the table. "Chicken, fries and coleslaw."

"Fried?" Dean said sitting at the table.

"The chicken or the slaw?"

One side of Dean's lip curled. "Very funny, smart ass."

"Yeah Dean the chicken is fried."

They ate in silence. Dean was extraordinarily quiet and picking halfheartedly at the chicken and fries. Sam surreptitiously watched Dean as he ate. There had to be something wrong for Dean not to attack the chicken with his usual enthusiasm and gusto.

Dean had something on his mind that was obvious. Sam had to find a way to get Dean to open up.

"Something wrong with the chicken, Dean?"

"What?" Dean looked from the chicken he held in hand to Sam.

"The chicken? You're not eating."

"No the chicken is fine. I was thinking about… Amelia." Dean said throwing a half-eaten drumstick back into the box and wiping his hands together.

Sam was surprised by his brother's statement. He hadn't expected this. He waited for Dean to elaborate.

Dean traced a fingertip over the wood grain pattern on the table top. His thoughts turned inwards.

He couldn't get Amelia's sad face out of his head as they'd driven away from her place. He knew she believed they wouldn't return and although they had only been gone for 3 days he wanted to get back. He didn't want Amelia to think he had abandoned her. He wanted see her face light up when he told her that DeClerque wouldn't be bothering her ever again and that she could stay in her family home for the rest of her life… alone. Because when he and Sam left and they would leave because they had the apocalypse to stop meant she would be alone again. Her soft gray eyes would fill with tears when her storybook hero Damon Knight, her knight in shining armor would leave her to her lonely existence with only her animals for company.

"Dean?" Sam's tone was soft and enquiring.

Dean didn't look up from the table. "She's been alone nearly her whole life Sam. She's got no one. Except for her nephew who died 18 years ago she's lived in that house alone."

Sam stayed silent he watched Dean wondering where this was going.

Dean at last looked up from the table at his brother. Sam noted Dean still looked tired dark circles shadowed his green eyes and his posture silently screamed; exhausted.

"The night before we left when I followed Amelia out to barn I overheard her talking to Blossom."

"Blossom?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You know her horse."

"Right her horse… Blossom." Sam's voice held a note of amusement.

Dean didn't notice. He continued as if Sam hadn't spoken. "She was so sad Sam, she said… she'd gotten used to me being around and she felt like she was alive for the first time since Nick died. When I go all she's got is her animals."

"Dean it's more than a lot of people have." The amusement was gone from Sam's voice.

"Yeah I know but…"

"What Dean?"

"She saved my life Sam. I owe her… everything."

Sam leaned forward across the table. "What are saying Dean? You want to stay or something?"

"No of course not it's just I wish there was more I could do… you know?"

"Dean you saved her home. You saved her from DeClerque's thugs. You saved _her_ life Dean. There's not a lot else you can do." Sam tried for reason.

"I know… you're right." Dean shook his head then picked up the drumstick he'd discarded earlier. "I'm being…"

"Human?" Sam finished.

"I was gonna say stupid. But human is… good." Dean answered before he bit into the drumstick.

- KITA -

"You want a drink already man? It's a little early don't you think?" Sam said glancing at his watch, then peering around Dean to the closed sign hanging inside the front door, "It's not even open."

They had left Dallas early as the first rays of the sun broached the horizon. Dean had only stopped once for food and gas just over the Oklahoma boarder. They'd made good time and it was only 1pm. Dean had driven into Ada and pulled up on the main street across from Maurie Mack's Tavern.

"I'm not here to drink Sam. I'm here to talk to Maurie." Dean answered as he turned off the engine.

"How do you know Maurie?" Sam said surprised.

"He's a friend of Amelia's."

"That doesn't explain why you want to talk to him."

"I want you to meet him and I have something else I want to discuss with him. Dean explained opening the door getting out and closing it behind him.

Sam stared at his brother through the open window as he crossed the street stepped up onto the sidewalk heading towards the tavern's front door. He had one hand on the handle when he turned saying over his shoulder loud enough for Sam to hear. "You comin' or what?"

Dean waited at the front door for Sam to get out of the car and make his way over to the stand beside him. When he stepped up next to him Dean pushed open the door and they entered the darkened tavern.

Sam stood inside the closed door letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The bar at the back of the large room was lit from above and some light that filtered in through the windows to the right.

Dean called out as he stepped between the tables and chairs towards the bar. "Maurie you here?"

Sam followed Dean and jumped when a deep masculine voice emanated out of the darkness to the left of the bar." Damon?"

Both the brother's heads turned in the direction of the voice. Sam could just see the outline of a man as he stood from the table in the far left corner emerging from the dark corner into the light cast from above the bar.

His white teeth flashed in the darkness of his face as he smiled at Dean.

Maurie was around 70 and a giant a good 2 inches taller than Sam and twice as wide. His short wiry hair was shot through with silver and even Sam had to look up at the man that made Bruno look like a midget. The muscles of his biceps strained against his shirt sleeves as he clasped Dean's hand in greeting clapping him on the shoulder enthusiastically.

"It's good to see you Damon." He said smiling as he continued to pump Dean's hand.

"Actually it's Dean," Dean said as Maurie let go of his hand. Dean had to resist the urge to shake feeling back into the appendage, "And this is my brother Sam." Dean finished half turning towards Sam.

"Sam. A pleasure." Maurie said repeating the handshake.

"You got a minute?" Dean asked.

"Always and it gets me away from the damned paperwork." 

Sam glanced at the paper strewn table Maurie had been seated at. Wondering how he could see anything in the dark.

"You want a beer? Maurie asked looking between the brothers.

"Yeah. Why not." Dean answered.

Lifting the bar break Maurie went behind the bar thumping 3 glasses down on the wooden top. "What about you Sam a beer?"

"Sounds good."

Dean sat at the bar as Maurie pulled the beers. Sam slid onto the stool beside him, his shoulder touching Dean's.

"As you can no doubt guess I got my memory back." Dean started.

Maurie nodded putting 2 of the 3 beers down in front of them. "Yeah I know. I saw Amelia a couple of days ago she told me you had gone to Dallas with your brother to take care of DeClerque. She also told me Sam was the man who was looking for you. The man you were dreaming about."

Before Dean could answer Sam said. "You were dreaming about me? You never told me that."

Dean looked from the beer he was nursing to Sam and shrugged. "It was all very… vague. I could never see you clearly your face was turned away and you were always out of reach like you were running from me." He said then took a pull on the beer.

Sam didn't know what to say. Dean dreamed he was running from him and although Sam regretted it had he had run away from Dean a few times in the past and Dean always found him and Sam was glad he always found him.

Dean shot him a sidelong look before turning back to Maurie. "Anyway we took care of DeClerque. He will never bother anyone ever again. That piece of filth will spend the rest of his miserable life in jail that's if he doesn't get the death sentence."

Maurie nodded. "I know about that too. It headlined the papers right across the country. Good job," Maurie paused glancing between the brothers, "that evidence that turned up anonymously was that for real or…"

"Did we fake it?" Dean finished.

"Well yeah."

"It was for real. DeClerque is a pedophile and he did kill those boys. I don't think I'll ever forget those photos."

"So that's the end of it then?"

Dean nodded. "The end of it for Amelia and the beginning of just deserts for DeClerque

"Amelia will be pleased." Maurie said lifting the glass to his lips.

"Wait. Amelia doesn't know?"

Maurie swallowed his mouthful of beer before answering. "No not yet it only hit the Oklahoma papers today and Amelia doesn't get any papers unless she comes to town she doesn't have a telephone and I don't think that ancient TV of hers has worked for years. I was going to take a run out to her place this afternoon to give her the news."

Dean cleared his throat. "Maurie I need to ask you something, something personal, about you and… Amelia."

Maurie pulled his head back in surprise at the change of subject glancing at Sam. Sam returned his look with one that said _'I've got no clue' shrugging_ one shoulder to emphasize to Maurie that he didn't know where Dean was going with this.

"Well out with it then what's on your mind?"

"Here goes. I've seen the way she looks at you the way you look at her. You care for her don't you?"

Sam looked at Dean amazed.

"Yeah I care for her a lot. She's a good friend."

"I think it's more than that. You love her. Am I right?"

For a moment or two Sam thought Maurie was going to introduce his giant meaty fist to Dean's face.

The big man had a strange look on his face a mixture of shock and admiration for Dean's moxie. And then his face split into a grin and the white teeth made an appearance his eyes crinkled at the corners and he chuckled. A deep rumble that started deep in his chest.

"Yeah you are. I love her. I have done for a long time."

"I knew it," Dean said with a satisfied smile, "and I believe she feels the same way about you."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah I do. Okay so listen up I've got a plan." Out the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam roll his eyes. "Shut up Sam."

"I didn't say anything." Sam said defensively.

"Yeah but I could hear you thinking and you think too loud."

Maurie smiled at the brothers in turn amused by their good natured banter. He then leaned forward over the bar dark eyes narrowed getting in eagerness for Dean to continue. "I'm listening. What's the plan?" He almost whispered.

- KITA -

An hour later The Impala pulled up out the front of Amelia's house. Before Dean had even shut off the engine the front door opened and Amelia preceded marginally by Pearl or rather a white furry missile flew out of the door and down the steps.

Pearl reached him first. As Dean stood and turned from the car Pearl launched herself at him her large front paws on his shoulders forcing him back into the side of the car. Dean let out a startled, "ufff."

"Pearl down, "Amelia said breathlessly, stopping in front of Dean taking hold of Pearl's collar, "enough." She began tugging gently until the over enthusiastic dog's 4 feet were once again on the ground.

As Dean stepped away from the car Amelia took Pearl's place wrapping Dean in a bear hug any WWF wrestler would be proud of Pearl barking happily, dancing and prancing around them with pleasure.

"You came back." She said breathlessly.

"Of course I came back I told you I would." Dean said returning her hug.

With a final squeeze Amelia stepped back holding Dean at arm's length she scanned his face, "Let me look at you. You're all in one piece, you look tired though," her eyes slid to his neck, narrowing when she saw the bruises coloring his throat. Dean tugged at collar of his t-shirt belatedly trying to hide the discolored flesh. "Wait what's this? You have bruises on your neck?"

Dean heard the car door open and close behind him and could sense Sam's amusement. "It's nothing. I'm alright… really," he said embarrassed, "Sam had it worse."

Amelia looked over Dean's shoulder at Sam standing on the other side of the Impala. "Sam come here and let me look at you," her tone motherly and firm at the same time.

Pearl sat at Dean's feet looking up at him lovingly, tail thumping loudly on the ground sending puffs of dust into the air. Dean reached out and ruffled the dogs big head, "Yeah Sam, don't be shy," Dean motioned for Sam to come closer, "let Amelia look at you."

Sam gave Dean a sarcastic smile but came reluctantly around the front of the car kicking at the dirt with the toes of his boots looking for the entire world like an overgrown kid about to face punishment from his grandma for some childish misdemeanor. _Your turn to be embarrassed now Sammy._

Stopping in front of Amelia he kept his head down looking at his dusty boots. Amelia reached up lifting his chin with the side of her finger then she gently smoothed the shaggy bangs away from Sam's forehead to examine the bandage and the bruise to the side of it.

"You poor boy does it hurt," Amelia said moving her hand to rest on his cheek.

Sam stammered out an answer in a small voice that sounded to Dean something like, "Its fine really it doesn't hurt anymore."

"Come inside and I'll put some witch hazel on those bruises." Amelia said taking Sam by the hand and leading him towards the steps, "You too Da- Dean." Quickly correcting the near slip of calling him by the name she had given him.

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean who was still grinning from ear to ear at Sam's discomfort. Sam glared back his lip curling which only to make Dean chuckle.

With Pearl dancing at his heels he followed them into the house.

- KITA -

"DeClerque is in jail?" Amelia asked stunned, "really?"

"Really." Sam answered as Amelia dabbed at his bruises with a wad of cotton soaked in witch hazel.

"What for?" Amelia asked.

"Murder, for one." Dean answered.

"Murder?"

"Yeah amongst other things."

"Other things?"

"Do I hear an echo in here?" Dean said, smiling.

Amelia stopped her ministrations of Sam looking at Dean. "An echo? No I don't hear-"

Dean's smile turned into a grin.

Amelia put her empty hand on her hip. "You're sassing me." She said color flushing her face and barely able to contain her smile.

"About DeClerque being in jail for murder or the echo in here?" Dean answered with mock seriousness.

Amelia hit him lightly on the arm. "Stop teasing."

Dean chuckled, apologizing. "Sorry Am."

Amelia's face dropped.

Dean saw the change sitting forward. "What is it? I say something wrong?"

"It's… just that no one called me Am since…Teddy used to call me that." Amelia gave herself a mental shake, looking at Sam. "You're done Sam. Dean your turn."

Sam and Dean shared a look before Dean answered. "I'm good."

"No you're not. Now let me take care of you."

"Dean. Come on." Sam said.

Dean sighed. "Oh alright." He pulled the neck of his t-shirt down exposing the bruises to Amelia who was hovering over him with a fresh wad of witch hazel soaked cotton.

"How did you get these?" She asked as she dabbed at them gently.

"Umm had another set to with Bruno." Dean answered.

"Bruno? That thug that hit you?"

"That'd be him."

Sam interjected. "We were in DeClerque's apartment digging up some dirt and Bruno showed up. He knocked me out and did that to Dean."

Amelia now finished ministering to Dean's bruises straightened looking between the brothers. "So to spite of Bruno I gather you found what you were looking for?"

"Yep." Dean answered simply.

"How did you get DeClerque arrested?"

"Dean put a sting on him." Sam answered, looking over at Dean, "I wish he'd told me about it though."

Dean shrugged.

Amelia looked between the brothers, confused. "A sting? Like a bee sting? I don't understand." She shook her head.

Dean answered. "You know like Redford and Newman… a sting?"

Amelia shook her head again wisps of silver hair falling loose from her ponytail. "I don't know what that means."

"We set him up. Basically made sure the evidence ended up in the right hands at the right time."

Sam interrupted. "You set him up, Dean."

Amelia stepped back away from Dean dropping the cotton swab into the bowl on the table, brushing the errant strands of hair away from her face. "Oh now I think I understand."

Dean let the t-shirt go tugging it back up over his throat.

"One of Dean's plans that actually worked." Sam said.

Dean looked affronted. "Hey my plans always work."

Sam raised one eyebrow. "Always?"

"Well… 99 percent of the time."

"Yeah? What about the-"

Amelia interrupted. "Boy's that's enough of that."

The brothers dropped their heads at Amelia's chastising tone. She looked at each of them before she continued. "I'm sure Dean's plans work fine and…" lifting their heads Dean smiled and Sam began to protest.

"But-" Sam began only to be stopped by Amelia.

"And I'm sure Sam's plans work just as well. Now you hungry?"

Before either could answer sounds of an engine accompanied by tires crunching in the dirt and stones came from out the front.

Amelia looked up in that direction and frowned. "I wonder who that is." Leaving the kitchen heading towards the front door as she spoke.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. _"Maurie,"_ Sam mouthed silently.

A few seconds later they heard Maurie's deep voice. "Hey Amelia."

"Show time!" Dean said, standing. Sam followed Dean as he went through the doorway into the living area.

"Maurice come in please it's nice to see you. Sam and Dean are back from Dallas."

Maurie stepped past Amelia into the room. "Yes I know."

"You know?" Amelia said as she closed the door.

Maurie looked to his left at the brothers standing at the back of the room giving a curt nod of his head.

Amelia glanced at the brothers.

"Amelia I need to talk to you." Maurie said changing the subject.

"Of course come on through to the kitchen."

"Alone."

"Oh."

Dean stammered. "We've got to go… out the back and do…"

"Something." Sam finished.

"Yeah, something." Dean agreed with a flash of a smile.

With that and Pearl close behind they turned back into the kitchen and moments later the back door closed behind them.

"Maurice what's going on?" Amelia asked suspicious of the 3 men's strange behavior.

"I have something of the utmost importance to ask you."

"We'd better sit down then."

- KITA -

Obsi was once again sunning himself on the hood of the pickup his head resting on his front paws. His green eyes on the brothers as they approached.

"Hey there Obsi. You really like to suntan on this old truck don't you?" Dean said to the sleek feline.

"Prrrrr." Obsi answered as if in agreement.

Dean leaned back against the hood bent one leg back hooking the heel of his boot onto the bumper bar. Reaching to his left he ran his hand down the length of Obsi's shiny silky coat. The cat immediately began to purr his whole body vibrating with pleasure his front feet stretching out along the hood. Pearl looked up at Dean then turned in a circle before lying down resting her large head on her big paws.

Skirting around the dog Sam stood next to Dean facing his brother leaning his thigh against the vehicle. Looking back at house.

They were silent for a couple of minutes. Enjoying the warm afternoon late October sunshine. Listening to sounds around them. Obsi's purr, Pearl's breathing, the lite breeze moving through the trees a bird calling out nearby an answering call further away, Blossom from her stall in the barn gave a soft whinny.

Sam broke the silence. "You think this is gonna work?" His gaze sliding from the house to Dean's profile.

"Dunno Sammy we'll see soon enough. Keep your fingers crossed." Dean answered his eyes on the middle distance.

"She's a nice lady a really nice lady."

"Yeah she is. She deserves to have a happy ending."

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "So do you Dean. You deserve a happy ending. More than anyone."

Dean turned his head meeting Sam's hazel eyes. "Don't think there's gonna be a happy ending for me Sam."

"What makes you so sure? You should be rewarded for all the good you've done in this world."

Not knowing what to say Dean continued to watch Sam's face.

Dean's expressive green eyes held Sam's. His brother seemed to be searching for something to say a way to deny Sam's words that he deserved a happy ending.

Breaking eye contact Dean looked towards the house. "I wonder what's happening."

"They make a nice couple, An odd couple but they look good together. "Sam said lightening the mood.

"Yeah," Dean smiled, "a match made in heaven."

From Dean's pocket came the strains of his cell phone ringtone. Dean pulled it out glanced at the caller ID before answering.

"Hey Bobby."

Sam watched Dean's profile as he listened to Bobby eyes cast down to the ground.

"You sure this is a case?"

More silence as Dean heard Bobby's answer. "Yeah okay we'll pack up and leave right away… we'll call you when we get there." Dean closed his phone pushing it back in his pocket.

"Bobby got a case?" Sam asked.

"Yeah maybe. He wants us to check it out."

Sam exhaled. "Another simple salt and burn like this one huh."

Dean gave a half laugh. "Yeah."

"So you right to leave?"

The back door opened and Amelia came out. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On her." Dean motioned with his head to Amelia as she came towards them.

"Hey everything alright with Maurie?" Dean asked as she approached.

Amelia stopped in front of them looking down at the ground at their feet. "Yeah err… he umm… told me he loved me and he asked me to marry him." The last part was rushed out.

Dean lowered his head trying to catch her eye. "And?"

"I said," She draw in a breath her gray eyes lifted to Dean's face, "I said I'd have to think about it."

"What's to think about, Maurie's a great guy and he cares about you Amelia, he cares deeply."

"Yeah I know he does and I care for him I have for a very long time… but…?"

"What Amelia. What's stopping you? You deserve a man like Maurie you deserve a happy ending Amelia."

"It's just that I'm…" her eyes lowered again to the ground. "I'm… scared."

"You scared?" Dean said. "No way you're the bravest person I know."

Amelia looked up at him though her lashes. "I'm a 67 year old spinster and the man I've loved for more than half of my life has just asked me to marry him. For the first time in my life I'm scared… scared that I'll wake up and I dreamed it."

Dean stepped away from the hood gathering Amelia in his arms. "Dear, sweet Amelia. It's not a dream, it's real and Maurie loves you he has done for a long time."

Amelia pushed away from him so she could look up into his face. "How do you know that?"

"He told me."

"He told you?" Then realization widened her eyes. "You did this?"

"Let's just say I convinced Maurie to show his hand."

Amelia pulled out of his arms. "Well then I guess there's only one thing left to do."

"Tell Maurie yes?" Dean guessed.

"Tell Maurie yes," She turned and began to run down the side of the house, "Got to catch him before he gets too far." She threw over her shoulder as she disappeared from view.

Dean turned his head. Sam's eyes were alight with a mixture of emotions, amusement, admiration, pride and love.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head a smile playing around his mouth his hazel eyes laughing. "You. You're an awesome big brother."

"You got that right Sammy."

- KITA -

The day was almost done. It was being over-run by the onset of evening the sky darkening as they stepped down from the front porch towards the waiting Impala.

Sam made his way around to the passenger side but didn't open the door he looked across the hood. Dean had stopped a few feet from the Impala. He was looking down at keys dangling from his fingers. This farewell was going to be hard for his brother he knew Dean had grown very fond of Amelia. In the few Days he had known her so had he. Dean loved her in way he would love his mother or grandmother if he had either.

After a few awkward moments he lifted his eyes and turned to face Amelia and Maurie who had followed them out.

Maurie was smiling his dark face brimming with happiness even white teeth showing every time he looked down at Amelia.

Amelia's face on the other hand told a different story it was a strange mixture of expectations for her new future, happiness and sadness. And the sadness was there because him. Because Damon Knight her knight in shining armor was leaving and Dean could tell she suspected she would never see him again.

Her emotion filled gray eyes moved over his face memorizing every feature, every line, scar and freckle. His fine chiseled jaw, full sensual lips, high defined lightly freckled cheek bones the ever so slightly off center nose with a smattering of more freckles the strands of light brown hair that teased his smooth forehead and his eyes; his beautiful expressive almond-shaped, tapering, long-sooty-lashed green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled or laughed.

Amelia's perusal of him made him uncomfortable. He began to squirm fidgeting with the keys in his hand scratching at the side of his neck with his index finger eyes darting around down at their feet.

"I wish you'd stay… both of you." Amelia looked over at Sam.

"We can't. We've got work to do."

"Do you think you'll ever come back this way?" Amelia's voice filled with hope.

"It's possible. Our work takes us all over." Dean paused glancing over his shoulder at Sam. "I'd better be going. We've got a lot of miles to cover."

Dean held out his hand to Maurie. "Maurie it's been a pleasure, take care of her won't you?"

Maurie grasped Dean's hand in a firm warm handshake, clapping a large hand on Dean's shoulder. "You can count on it."

He nodded as Maurie released his hand. Dean stepped up to Amelia holding his arms open. "Come here, give me a hug."

She fell into him wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug, burying her face in his chest. Dean's arms closed around her his hand rubbing up and down her hitching; quaking back he laid his chin against the top of her head his beard scruff catching in the silky silver strands.

"I want you to stay." She said into his t-shirt. Her voice muffled.

"I can't. Besides you don't need me. You've got Maurie."

"I know. But… you're Damon Knight my knight in shining armor."

"Thank you." Dean whispered loud enough so only she could hear.

Amelia pulled away sniffing back tears. "What for?"

"For saving my life." Dean looked down at her his eyes suspiciously moist.

"Thank you for giving me mine."

"Hey, happy to help." Dean replied in a lighthearted tone. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, "Take care."

"You too."

A minute later they pulled away Dean lifted his hand in a farewell wave as he swung the car around in a U turn heading up the track towards the road a cloud of dust fanning out from the rear of the big car.

Neither said anything as the Impala bounced down the rough, potholed track.

Sam broke the silence after they turned onto the black top heading north.

Sitting slightly sideways on the bench seat, back against the door left arm resting along the top of the seat. "You pulled it off Dean," Sam said, "All of it. You did it."

Dean spared Sam a quick glance. "I did didn't I?"

Sam continued to watch his brother. "You alright?"

"Yeah I think I am."

"You are you know?" Sam said cryptically.

"I'm not following you. I am what?"

"Her knight in shining armor."

Dean gave a snort of laughter. "Yeah right."

"You are. It's just that your armor is… a little tarnished." Sam finished lips tipped up in a genuine smile.

Dean's expression was thoughtful his eyes focused ahead at the swath of light from the headlights cutting through and pushing back the encroaching night clearing a path as they headed towards their own uncertain future.

Leaning forward and reaching out he twisted the nob on the radio. Deep Purple's Hush blared from the speakers filling the car and bouncing around the interior.

_Hush, hush thought I heard you calling my name now. Hush hush._

Leaning back Dean let out a pent up sigh and began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat and then he smiled.

_**The End**_

**Authors End Notes:**

Wow I can't believe I finally finished this story. Chapter 1 was published on March 14 2010. Its only taken me 2 years and 1month to complete. EEK!

I hope you found the ending satisfactory and not too cheesy? Cuz as we all know ending are hard. The boys never have and probably never will have a happy ending and I can't give them one but I can give Amelia and Maurie a happy ending. So I did!

Thanks to all my loyal readers/reviewers and the lurkers who followed me through this journey; a journey that turned out to be much longer than I anticipated. Thanks for sticking with me. A special mention goes to Mason Dixon, thanks heaps!

I would love it if you would drop me a line and let me know your thoughts on Knight in Tarnished Armor.

I will continue to post the revised chapters of The Beast With No Name but I will be taking a short break from posting my next story (maybe a couple of months or so) it's called Crossing Paths and it's a Supernatural/Dark Angel crossover set in season 2 of Supernatural and Season 2 of Dark Angel. I want to concentrate and work on that for a while before I post any of it . If you add me to the 'author's alert' then you will be notified when the first chapter is posted.

Thanks for reading.

_Silvertayl 57_


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